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ADDRESSES 


AND 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE  AND  VERSE 


©f  iatnes  $afler  Norton’s  “ Presses  anb  .fragments  in  Prose 
anti  Ferse,”  ©ne  ©fjousanb  anti  IStgbtg  ©optes  are  printeb 
ti)is  bag,  ©ecember  18, 1896,  bg  Jobn  0OTson  anb  &on,  at 
tbe  ©Inibersitg  Press,  ©ambribge,  Massachusetts;  of  bofjicij 
ebition  ©ne  ©fjousanb  ©optes  onlg  in  ill  be  offereb  for  sale. 


A 


ADDRESSES 

AND 

FRAGMENTS 

IN 

PROSE  AND  VERSE 


JAMES  SAGER  NORTON 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

By  EDWARD  G.  MASON 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  AND  COMPANY 
1896 


Copyright 

By  A.  C.  McClurg  and  Co. 
A.D.  1896 


As  - f 1 


CONTENTS 


Introduction  . 


Page 

vii 


1 


Ferge. 

Parting  Ode 3 

Abraham  Lincoln 5 

Chicago  Yale  Alumni  Song 7 

The  Old  Brick  Row 8 

Reunion  Poem io 

Professor  Precise 15 

Say  Yes,  Petite 21 

The  One-Eared  Man  to  the  One-Eyed  Maid  ...  23 

To  my  Neighbor 24 

To  E.  J.  G 25 

To  Eugene  Field 27 

The  Old  Story 28 

Rhyming  Letters  from  Abroad: 

Algiers 33 

Naples 37 

Rome 39 

Venice 45 

Riviera 48 


T*?f  \ $ 0^79 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


flfrog*. 

Page 

George  Washington 55 

A Portion  of  the  Old  Testament  Rewritten  . . 60 

The  Confessions  of  a Millionaire  .......  67 

The  Rise  and  Fall  of  the  Devil 96 

A Trip  to  the  Nipigon 136 

The  Bell(e)s  of  Yale 158 

Our  Clients 163 

The  King’s  English 169 

Posterity 179 

Yale  in  the  West 186 

Chicago 194 

“ Catting  ” 202 

The  Rights  of  the  Citizen  to  his  own  Property  205 
Mr.  Jones’s  Experiment 222 


INTRODUCTION. 


LL  who  knew  James  Sager  Norton  will 


take  a sad  pleasure  in  recalling  the  charac- 
teristics which  made  him  memorable  in  the  com- 
munity in  which  he  lived  and  died.  'Even  those 
to  whom  he  was  a stranger  who  may  peruse  this 
volume  will  realize  to  some  degree  what  a rare, 
bright  spirit  has  passed  away  in  him,  and  how 
irreparable  his  loss  is  at  his  home  and  among  his 
friends. 

He  was  born  at  Lockport,  Illinois,  December 
sixth,  1844.  Here  he  lived  and  attended  school 
until  his  seventeenth  year,  when  he  entered  the 
Freshman  Class  of  Kenyon  College.  He  remained 
at  this  institution  for  two  years,  and  then  joined  the 
Junior  Class  of  Yale  College,  graduating  in  1865. 
Though  coming  late  into  this  class,  he  won  many 
friends,  and,  soon  giving  evidence  of  the  literary 
and  poetic  merit  which  distinguished  him  in  after 


Vlll 


INTRODUCTION. 


life,  was  chosen  to  write  the  Ivy  Ode  sung  by  his 
classmates  at  their  Presentation  Day  exercises. 
After  graduation  he  spent  nine  months  in  Europe, 
and,  returning,  became  a member  of  the  Co- 
lumbia Law  School,  from  which  he  took  his 
degree  of  Bachelor  of  Law  in  1867. 

In  the  fall  of  that  year  he  removed  to  Chicago, 
and  in  due  season  was  admitted  to  the  Illinois 
Bar,  and  began  the  practice  of  his  profession. 
The  year  before  his  coming  to  Chicago,  the  sons 
of  his  Alma  Mater  residing  there  had  formed 
the  Chicago  Yale  Association,  one  of  the  earliest 
unions  of  the  kind  in  the  West,  and  indeed  in  the 
whole  country.  In  this  organization  he  soon  be- 
came prominent,  and  repeated  elections  to  its 
presidency  showed  the  esteem  in  which  he  was 
held  by  his  fellow-collegians.  For  wellnigh 
thirty  years  he  attended  and  took  part  in  its 
meetings,  and  spoke  in  prose  or  rhyme  at  all 
but  one  of  its  annual  dinners.  The  wit,  the 
pathos,  the  facile  verse,  with  which  he  made 
to  live  again  the  merry  college  days  under  the 
elms  of  Yale,  or  in  “the  old  red  buildin’s  where 
we  went  to  school,”  were  so  delightful  that  one 
had  only  to  know  that  Norton  was  to  speak  on 
one  of  these  occasions  to  be  sure  of  its  sue- 


INTRODUCTION. 


IX 


cess.  Frequently  he  represented  his  dearly 
loved  college  at  the  gatherings  of  the  alumni  of 
other  institutions,  and  always  to  the  honor  of 
Yale  and  the  full  satisfaction  of  his  brother 
Yalensians.  A notable  instance  was  that  of  the 
dinner  of  the  Harvard  Association,  at  which 
James  Russell  Lowell  was  a guest.  Norton,  as 
spokesman  for  Yale,  rising  with  impassive  face 
and  gazing  soberly  into  the  eyes  of  his  audi- 
ence, thanked  them  in  measured  tones  for  the 
unexpected  opportunity  afforded  him  of  behold- 
ing so  many  Harvard  men  pure  and  siviple. 
Then,  alluding  to  his  having  received  two  invi- 
tations to  the  dinner,  he  remarked  that  “ the 
secretary  had  casually  mistaken  him  for  a couple 
of  Harvard  men.”  The  humorous  implication 
that  one  Yale  man  was  equal  to  two  of  Harvard 
brought  down  the  house  ; 

“ And  e’en  the  ranks  of  Tuscany 
Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer  ” 

at  his  allusion  to  a recent  athletic  contest  in  which 
Yale  had  been  the  victor,  as  an  occasion  when 
“ Yale  had  played  football  in  the  presence  of  Har- 
vard.” It  is  a real  loss  that  this  brilliant  speech 
has  not  been  preserved  in  full.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  Mr.  Lowell  pronounced  it  one  of  the  hap- 


X 


INTRODUCTION. 


piest  he  had  ever  listened  to,  and  its  author,  “ a 
prince  of  after-dinner  talkers.” 

He  was  one  of  the  early  members  of  the  Chi- 
cago Literary  Club,  founded  in  1874,  and  became 
its  president  in  1885,  delivering  a masterly  ad- 
dress at  his  inauguration.  At  many  of  its 
monthly  meetings,  receptions,  and  annual  meet- 
ings, he  presented  papers  or  made  speeches, 
some  of  which  have  been  preserved  to  be  now 
published.  To  its  members  were  first  read  his 
articles  afterward  published  in  the  magazines, 
and  in  many  ways  he  showed  his  interest  in  it. 
He  is  one  of  those  to  whom  that  club  is  under 
deep  obligation  for  the  maintenance  of  its  high 
literary  standard,  and  for  its  continued  success. 

The  reputation  which  he  gained  in  these  asso- 
ciations as  an  admirable  speaker  spread  to  the 
community  at  large,  without  effort  on  his  part, 
and  rather  against  his  will.  But  he  could  not 
prevent  the  growing  demand  for  his  appearance 
upon  public  occasions,  to  which  he  was  often 
compelled  to  yield  in  Chicago  and  elsewhere. 
The  New  York  Yale  Association  invited  him  to 
speak  at  its  annual  reunion  on  January  twentieth, 
1893.  Yet  so  modestly  did  he  rate  his  own  ability 
that  his  friends  were  hardly  able  to  persuade 


INTRODUCTION. 


XI 


him  to  accept  the  invitation.  How  well  he  ac- 
quitted himself  may  be  learned  from  the  press 
of  the  time,  which  repeated  his  praises  for  days, 
and  printed  and  reprinted  his  address.  But 
only  those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  be 
present  can  wholly  realize  the  scene  when  three 
hundred  men,  on  their  feet,  and  some  even  stand- 
ing on  the  chairs  and  tables,  were  waving  nap- 
kins and  programmes  and  cheering  the  pale, 
calm  speaker,  master  of  himself  and  of  the  occa- 
sion, as  he  uttered,  in  the  intervals  of  tumultuous 
applause,  the  brilliant  sentences  which  evoked 
such  enthusiasm. 

This  address  and  the  almost  equally  celebrated 
one  made  in  1893,  in  Madison  Square  Garden, 
New  York,  at  the  famous  dinner  given  by  the 
artists  and  architects  of  the  World’s  Fair  to  their 
chief,  Daniel  H.  Burnham,  have  fortunately  been 
preserved,  and  are  now  published  in  this  volume. 
There  were  many  others,  perhaps  of  no  less 
merit,  which  have  passed  away  with  the  winged 
words  that  he  spoke.  All  of  them  as  delivered 
illustrated  the  special  qualities  of  his  oratory: 
the  calm,  clear  voice,  the  absolutely  unmoved 
countenance  with  which  he  said  the  brightest 
and  wittiest  things,  the  happy  and  unexpected 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION. 


turns  of  expression,  and  the  delicious  and  origi- 
nal humor  which  pervaded  the  whole.  The 
power  to  surprise  and  to  please  is  as  manifest 
in  his  essays  and  his  verse  as  in  his  speeches, 
and  all  of  his  literary  work  is  remarkable  for 
clearness  of  view  and  quickness  of  thought.  The 
charm  of  his  conversation  it  is  impossible  to 
reproduce.  He  was  a master  of  repartee  and 
of  epigram,  and  of  a certain  wonderful  way  of 
putting  things,  which,  so  to  speak,  illumined  any 
subject  he  touched  upon.  His  bright  sayings 
will  long  be  remembered  and  quoted  in  the 
circles  which  sorely  miss  him  now. 

It  should  also  be  said  that  the  productions  of 
his  pen  were  not  those  of  a man  of  leisure  or  one 
who  had  made  literature  his  occupation,  but  were 
the  fruit  of  moments  spared  from  an  engrossing 
profession.  He  was  a busy  attorney  in  active 
practice,  and  held  a high  position  at  the  Bar, 
where  he  was  known  as  a safe  and  sagacious 
counsellor  and  an  able  advocate  as  well.  Few 
lawyers  have  accomplished  more  for  their  clients 
than  he,  and  more  than  one  valuable  estate  to- 
day is  a monument  to  his  wise  foresight  and  pru- 
dent management.  On  October  fourteenth,  1873, 
he  was  married  to  Miss  Frances  Rumsey,  the 


INTRODUCTION. 


Xlll 


daughter  of  George  F.  Rumsey,  of  Chicago.  His 
widow  and  two  daughters  survive.  His  only  son 
died  in  infancy. 

In  the  prime  of  his  life,  in  the  maturity  of  his 
powers,  Mr.  Norton’s  health  began  to  fail.  A 
year  of  travel  abroad  was  of  benefit  to  him,  but 
after  his  return  it  was  found  that  he  was  suffering 
from  a fatal  disease.  A lingering  illness  ensued, 
which  he  bore  with  heroic  patience  and  endur- 
ance. Never  man  faced  the  great  conqueror 
more  bravely  than  he.  His  soul  rose  triumphant 
over  pain,  and  the  old  spirit  flashed  out  even  in 
paroxysms  of  almost  mortal  agony.  His  many 
friends  will  ever  remember  those  last  days  at 
his  beautiful  summer  home  in  Wisconsin,  on  the 
shore  of  Lake  Geneva,  where,  though  his  form 
was  wasting  away  before  their  eyes,  the  man  him- 
self was  unchanged,  and  smiled  and  talked  as  of 
yore.  On  the  seventeenth  of  September,  1896, 
he  fell  peacefully  asleep. 

E.  G.  M. 


Chicago,  November  30,  1896. 


VERSE. 


PARTING  ODE. 


Air.  — A uld  Lang  Syne. 

TIj'ULL  many  a song  the  years  have  taught, 
Yet  only  one  sad  strain ; 

Full  many  a sweet  experience  brought, 

Yet  one  last  hour  of  pain ; 

And  now  with  voices  wont  to  blend 
In  happy  glees  of  yore. 

We  tell  the  joys,  we  mourn  the  end, 

Of  days  that  are  no  more. 

Those  years  were  summer-fields  of  flowers, 
And  while  we  culled  we  sighed 
To  clip  the  wings  of  happy  hours, 

And  there  forever  bide  ; 

But  comes  the  hum  of  toiling  bands  ; 

And  floral  joys  we  yield, 

To  give  the  strength  of  willing  hands 
In  Earth’s  great  harvest-field. 

The  social  bonds,  the  blended  aim, 

That  knit  our  souls  in  one  ; 

The  daily  task,  the  joy  that  came 
With  duties  fitly  done,  — 

All,  all  we  leave  within  the  walls 
Whose  shadows  cast  no  gloom, 

And  pass  to  where  the  conflict  calls, 

And  singly  reach  the  tomb. 


, FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 

The  saddest,  yet  the  gladdest  day ; 

For  now  the  hope  is  sweet 
Of  winning  chaplets  fair  to  lay 
At  our  Kind  Mother’s  feet : 

And  in  our  hearts  the  gentle  spell 
Of  memory  ne’er  shall  fail, 

But  ever  stay  the  last  farewell 
To  Sixty-Five  and  Yale. 


New  Haven, 

June,  1865. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


In  Memoriam. 

Sung  by  the  Yale  College  Glee  Club,  1865. 

T X 7EEP  ! weep  for  the  noble  dead. 

* * Spent  be  the  fount  of  the  tears  we  shed  ; 
Hushed  be  our  gladness, 

To  mourning  and  sadness, 

Though  sacred  our  faith  in  the  soul  that  hath  fled. 

Dead  ! Dead  ! Hath  he  tilled  his  field 
Only  to  fall  ere  the  harvest-yield  ? 

God  who  record£th, 

He  fitly  rewardeth, 

And  Faith  sees  the  meed  of  his  labors  revealed. 

Well,  well  hath  his  part  been  wrought. 

Nations  by  such  unto  wisdom  are  taught; 

Single  to  duty, 

He  wore  the  high  beauty 
Of  holiness,  — mighty  to  do  what  he  ought. 

Long,  long  shall  his  name  be  bright, 

Blessed  by  the  millions  he  led  to  the  light ; 
Hallowed  by  ages 
Embalmed  in  the  pages 
Of  history,  long  shall  it  symbol  the  right. 


6 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


Mourn  ! Mourn ! Toll  the  slow  sad  bell ; 
Thunder  the  guns  — for  a chieftain  he  fell  — 
Drape  the  broad  highway 
And  still  the  rude  by-way, 

And  droop  the  old  flag  he  hath  loved  so  well. 

Mourn  ! Mourn  ! yet  the  slow  sad  bell 
Must  have  a hope-giving  tone  in  its  knell ; 

Trust  we  our  sorrow 
May  bloom  on  the  morrow  : 

For  God,  though  He  smite,  doeth  all  things  well. 


CHICAGO  YALE  ALUMNI  SONG. 


Air.  — Auld  Lang  Syne. 

*\^7HAT  though  my  blood  be  bounding  now, 
* ’ And  years  have  tempered  thine, 

And  ashes  be  upon  thy  brow. 

And  locks  of  youth  on  mine ; 

We  ’ll  find  for  every  difference  still 
Nepenthe  in  the  wine 
That  sparkles  in  the  cup  we  fill 
To  pledge  the  days  Lang  Syne. 

If  there  ?s  a chill  upon  thy  heart, 

Then  here ’s  a heart  aglow, 

To  give  thee  back  before  we  part 
The  warmth  of  long  ago ; 

And  ne’er  a voice  around  the  board 
But  has  accord  with  thine, 

To  blend  in  every  cheering  word 
The  tones  of  Auld  Lang  Syne. 

Then  let  there  be  no  seeming  here 
Of  pleasure  lightly  quaffed, 

But  fill  thy  glass  with  kindly  cheer, 

And  take  an  honest  draught ; 

And  find  for  care  and  every  ill 
Nepenthe  in  the  wine 
That  sparkles  in  the  cup  we  fill 
To  Yale  and  Auld  Lang  Syne. 

1868. 


THE  OLD  BRICK  ROW. 


Read  as  an  “ Anonymous  Poem  ” at  the  Second  Annual 
Banquet  of  the  Chicago  Yale  Association, 
December,  1868. 

T AIN’T  no  poet,  — least-ways  not ’s  I knows  on ; 

***  And  mebbe ’t  ain’t  no  use  to  make  believe ; 

For  when  my  notions  git  their  party  clo’es  on 
The  set  ain’t  snug  and  somehow  don’t  deceive. 

But  sence  I ’ve  been  a settin’  here,  I ’ve  got 
A sorter  sense  of  turkey  mixed  with  goose  ; 

And  mebbe  that  accounts  for  why  I ’ve  strut 
Into  a vacancy  that  fits  me  loose. 

I ain’t  a goin’  to  take  no  text  to  talk  on  — 

That ’s  too  confinin’  for  a healthy  rule  — 

I ’d  just  as  soon  pick  out  a board  to  walk  on 
If  I was  student  in  a dancin’  school. 

And  then  again  it  kinder  seems  to  me 
A poet  had  n’t  oughter  have  directions, 

But  go  ahead  and  travel  ruther  free, 

And  not  be  tied  to  makin’  close  connections. 

And  so  I ’m  up  to  talk  without  a toast ; 

And  first : good  feelin’  squares  a meal,  and  hence 
A vittle  ’pears  to  satisfy  ye  most 

When  friends  dip  in  and  help  themselves ; and  sence 
We’ve  cum  together  on  that  plan,  let’s  jest 
Forgive  the  dishes  for  the  names  they ’ve  got, 

And  ’low  our  furrin  cider ’s  ’bout  the  best 
We  ever  tasted,  whether ’t  is  or  not. 


THE  OLD  BRICK  ROW. 


9 


However,  seems  to  me,  ’t  ain’t  no  gret  matter 
Jest  what  the  food  is  or  jest  how  it ’s  dressed. 

The  pith  of  this  meal  ain’t  served  on  a platter, 

It  ’s  what  each  of  us  brought  here  in  his  breast. 

Jest  like  it  ain’t  the  object  in  a Christian 

To  take  Communion  and  then  bow  his  head, 

And  shet  his  eyes  and  ask  himself  the  question 
How  old  the  wine  is,  or  who  baked  the  bread. 

We  ’ve  all  been  down  to  Yale  and  been  to  school  there, 
And  on  one  pint  I guess  we  ’re  all  united  : 

They  either  make  a wise  man  or  a fool  there ; 

And  as  I ’m  told  the  fools  hain’t  been  invited 
To  come  to  tea  to-night,  I ruther  guess 

It ’s  safe  to  say  the  sense  of  this  here  meetin’ 

Is  ’bout  unanimous  for  nothin’  less 
Than  a right  out  old-fashioned  fam’ly  greetin’. 

That’s  the  idee  : so  fill  your  tumblers  up. 

The  Lord  that  let  ye  go  to  Yale  ’n  the  fuss  place 
’ll  take  the  pisen  out  of  every  drop 

Ye  drink  to  her  and  save  ye  from  a wuss  place. 

(And  every  parson ’s  ’lowed  to  take  a hand  in 
Under  a sorter  special  silver  rule,) 

Fill  up,  and  drink  the  toast  I give  ye  standin’  — 

The  red  brick  buildin’s  where  we  went  to  school  ! 


REUNION  POEM. 


Read  at  the  Third  Annual  Banquet  of  the  Chicago 
Yale  Association  on  December  21,  1869. 


£)  OE  TA  when  nascitur , beaucoup  non  fit , 
That ’s  Latin,  I fancy ; and  this  is  the  gist 
Of  the  classical  saw  of  its  mystery  shorn,  — 
When  poeta , a poet,  is  nascitur,  born, 

He ’s  not  fit  for  beaucoup , very  much,  and  if  so  it 
May  be  that  a poem  may  be  like  a poet 
Unfit  for  beaucoup , and  still  be  by  the  turn 
Of  the  same  vice  versa  obliged  to  be  born. 


When  Adam,  accounted  the  first  in  his  class, 
Falling  into  bad  company,  brought  it  to  pass 
That  his  term  was  cut  short  by  a sudden  vacation, 
And  gained  for  himself  premature  graduation, 

On  him  and  his  heirs,  for  his  sins  of  commission, 
Was  laid,  it  is  said,  this  relentless  condition  : 

To  labor ; to  live  by  the  sweat  of  the  brow 
In  a field  that  requites  to  the  laborer’s  plough 
But  the  thistle  and  thorn  for  the  laborer’s  bread, 
And  a grave  in  the  furrow  to  be  for  his  bed. 

*T  was  a terrible  curse  ; and  it  follows,  perforce, 
That  as  we  were  in  Eden  by  proxy,  of  course 
By  proxy  we  tasted  the  apple,  and  we 
(Since  qui  facit  per  alium  facit per  se) 

Are  enduring  in  person  the  curse  that  befell 
Of  labor  unending  in  peril  of  Hell. 


REUNION  POEM. 


II 


Now  I fancy  sometimes  — though  I wish  in  a word  to 
Disclaim  any  hint  to  the  person  referred  to  — 

If  Adam  in  Eden  had  tended  a vine, 

And  gathered  the  vintage  and  carried  the  wine 
To  his  desert  of  exile,  and  stolen  a draught, 

In  the  respite  of  toil  at  his  wearisome  craft, 

To  lighten  the  labors  with  heaviness  laden, 

And  nourish  his  soul  with  the  juices  of  Eden, 

He  then  had  not  lost  all  the  joys  of  the  garden, 

And  might  have  transmitted  to  us  with  the  burden 
Entailed  by  his  ill-advised  venture  in  fruit, 

Some  happy  device  of  avoidance  to  suit. 

But  Adam  was  new ; into  Paradise  cast, 

A man  all  at  once  and  without  any  past, 

And  was  in  his  innocence  led  by  his  wife 
Into  some  indiscretions,  which  later  in  life 
He  doubtless  regretted,  and  wherefore  should  we, 

In  the  light  of  our  larger  experience,  be 
Restrained  by  the  law  of  this  case  nisi prius 
From  choosing  the  free-thinker’s  motto,  “ Nullius 
Addictus  jurare  in  verba  magistriP 
And  working  our  will  with  the  facts  of  our  history. 

Let  the  precedents  moulder ! Enough  let  it  be, 

That  we  know  of  an  Eden,  far  down  by  the  sea, 

Where  we  gathered  the  fruit  when  no  temptress  was 
near, 

And  gleefully  tended  the  vine  of  good  cheer, 

Till  we  passed  as  of  old  from  the  beautiful  gardens, 

To  measure  our  strength  with  humanity's  burdens. 

We ’ve  grappled  the  present ; what  blame  if  we  now, 
Leaving  thistle  and  thorn  and  the  profitless  plough 


12 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


In  life’s  barren  furrow,  take  respite  at  last, 

Give  the  sweat  of  our  brows  to  a breeze  from  the  past, 
And  dream  still  again  that  our  Eden  is  here, 

As  we  mingle  the  drops  from  its  vine  of  good  cheer. 

From  many  a quest,  like  the  wide-scattered  brood, 

Who  have  heard  the  home-call  in  the  meadow  and  wood, 
And  flock  to  the  Mother  and  far  from  the  nest 
Find  home  ’neath  her  wings  in  the  warmth  of  her  breast, 
We  have  gathered  to-night  at  the  call  of  our  Mother, 

To  hold  the  communion  of  brother  with  brother. 

Outside  is  old  Time  — let  him  wait  at  the  door ; 

Let  him  plume  his  gray  wings  till  the  revel  is  o’er. 

We  have  stolen  his  glass  — let  us  clog  the  quick  sand 
With  the  wine  of  Lang  Syne  ere  it  come  to  his  hand ; 
Outside  is  the  world,  that  implacable  thing 
That  cheats  with  caresses  to  kill  with  its  sting, 

And  feeds  upon  life  it  has  fattened  with  hope. 

Close  the  door  upon  all ; leave  the  morrow  to  cope 
With  the  cares  and  anxieties  bred  of  the  day, 

Nor  long  for  the  sun  that  recalls  to  the  fray. 

Here  is  memory’s  largess  in  bountiful  measure, 

And  hearts  that  are  hungry  for  feasting  and  pleasure. 
Old  Age,  with  his  wrinkles  half-hidden  in  smiles, 
Hobnobbing  with  Youth  that  his  fancy  beguiles 
Into  seeming  his  own  ; lusty  Manhood  aflush 
With  the  ardors  of  old  ; and  hot  Youth  in  the  blush 
Of  life’s  morning.  About  us  the  redolent  air 
Is  astir  with  the  flitting  of  spirits  that  bear 
To  the  banquet  in  exile  the  savors  of  home, 

And  the  shadowy  faces  of  memory  come. 

There  is  rustling  of  elms,  and  the  sound  of  our  feet 


REUNION  POEM. 


13 


’Neath  their  murmuring  arches  in  fancy  we  greet ; 

Our  voices  we  catch  in  the  echo  of  song, 

And  our  features  appear  in  the  shadowy  throng. 

Does  it  seem?  Is  it  fancy  that  sings  in  our  ears? 

Only  memory  that  weaves  in  the  woof  of  our  years 
Shining  threads  ? Have  we  wandered  so  far  in  the  quest 
From  the  roof-tree  of  home  ? Have  we  laden  the  breast 
That  impatiently  panted  for  armor  and  strife 
So  soon  with  the  passionless  purpose  of  life  ? 

Let  it  be  but  a dream  — ’t  is  a dream  of  delight, 

And  its  hues  are  as  fair  though  they  fade  with  the  night. 
Let  us  laugh  at  each  one  who  has  whitened  his  hair 
To  the  semblance  of  age  ; let  us  merrily  share 
In  the  humor  of  him  who  would  tell  of  his  wife, 

Or  his  children,  and  prate  of  the  burdens  of  life ; 

Let  us  hail  the  conceit  with  a rollicking  zest, 

If  another  bethink  him  to  heighten  the  jest 
With  a word  of  his  flock,  or  the  mention  of  clients, 

The  chances  of  trade  or  the  labors  of  science. 

’T  is  Carnival  hour  ; let  the  merriment  swell 
To  the  madness  of  mirth ; we  are  under  the  spell 
Of  a spirit  that  recks  not  of  reason  or  rule, 

And  the  laughter  of  lips  be  the  song  of  the  soul. 

Let  us  sing  the  moon  down  with  a chorus  of  old 
And  herald  the  sun  with  the  crimson  and  gold 
Of  days  that  we  knew ; let  us  speed  the  bright  wings 
Of  our  hope  once  again  — again  drink  of  the  springs 
Where  the  sweet  waters  well  through  the  moss  of  our 
years. 

What  is  life,  that  we  render  it  tribute  of  tears, 

And  may  not  be  glad  if  it  take  of  our  smiles  ? 

Or  age,  that  we  hail  not  the  dream  that  beguiles 


14 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


Into  life  the  gray  ashes  of  youth  once  again 
And  wakes  the  mad  fancies  that  sleep  in  the  brain? 

But  a truce  to  my  words  that  are  idle  and  broken, 
For  sweeter  than  all  is  the  word  yet  unspoken, 

The  soul  of  my  song  — the  one  word  that  we  hail 
In  its  fulness  of  meaning  — the  dear  name  of  Yale. 
Let  me  turn  to  her  now  in  the  infinite  grace 
Of  her  welcoming  hand  and  the  glow  of  her  face, 
And  lovingly  pencil  a song  to  her  praise 
On  this  rose-tinted  page  of  our  album  of  days. 

Yale  that  sittest  by  the  sea  ! 

Shrine  of  Ages  yet  to  be  ! 

Gratefully  we  turn  to  thee, 

Dear  Old  Yale. 

Mother  of  a mighty  race  ! 

May  the  glory  of  thy  face 
Brighten  through  the  years  apace, 

Grand  Old  Yale. 

May  thy  courage  falter  never, 

And  the  crown  of  high  endeavor 
Be  upon  thy  brows  forever, 

Brave  Old  Yale. 

May  the  skies  be  bright  above  thee, 

And  the  dearest  praises  of  thee 
Be  the  prayers  of  those  who  love  thee; 
Dear  Mother  Yale. 


PROFESSOR  PRECISE. 


Read  at  the  Fourteenth  Annual  Banquet  of  the 
Chicago  Yale  Association  on  December  30,  1881. 

T3ROFESSOR  PRECISE  had  a disciplined  mind 
-*•  And  he  loved  mathematics  and  not  mankind. 

For  years  and  years  on  each  secular  day 
Of  the  College  term  he  had  taken  his  way 
To  his  lecture-room,  and  for  just  an  hour 
Had  held  the  Sophomore  Class  with  a power 
That  never  varied.  The  rest  of  the  day, 

And  just  two-thirds  of  the  night,  they  say, 

In  his  bachelor  den,  with  the  shades  pulled  down, 

In  a straight-backed  chair  and  rectangular  gown, 

He  silently  ciphered,  and  year  by  year 
Grew  steadily  more  precise  and  queer. 

Miss  Phoebe  Severe,  sedate  and  prim, 

Clearly  adult  and  decidedly  grim, 

Kept  a Finishing  School  for  unfinished  Misses, 

And  taught  them  science  and  manners ; and  this  is 
The  reason  she  too  had  a disciplined  mind 
And  loved  mathematics  and  not  mankind. 

Now  it  happened  one  morning,  by  good  luck  or  bad 
As  the  sequel  may  seem  to  be  happy  or  sad, 

That  Miss  Phoebe,  alert  every  moment  to  hear 
Any  thoughtless  expression  not  meant  for  her  ear, 


1 6 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


Heard  a Finishing  Miss  very  foolishly  say, 

(Apropos  of  Geometry  task  for  the  day), 

That  she  could  n’t  see  why  a triangle  should  never 
Have  more  than  three  corners  — that  is,  if  it  ever 
Should  want  ’em  ; and  this  incidental  remark 
Of  the  sceptical  Miss,  like  a mischievous  spark 
In  a basket  of  shavings,  lay  smouldering  deep 
In  the  mind  of  Miss  Phoebe,  awake  and  asleep, 

Till  it  kindled  a strangely  disquieting  doubt 
That  her  faith  in  Geometry  failed  to  put  out. 

Full  many  a year  had  she  taught  to  her  school 
The  literal  truth  of  each  orthodox  rule, 

And  never  before  had  she  harbored  a thought 
Disloyal  or  false  to  the  rules  that  she  taught ; 

But  now  with  a vague  unrest  she  pined, 

For  the  spirit  of  doubt  disturbed  her  mind, 

And  a voice  pursued  her  by  night  and  by  day 
That  whispered  in  true  diabolical  way, 

“ Triangles  may  vary ; there  may  be  a lot 
Of  two-cornered  — ten-cornered,  triangles  ; why  not?  ” 
And  one  morning  she  ’woke  from  a dream  to  recall 
Triangles  without  any  corners  at  all. 

At  last,  like  a vine  feeling  ’round  for  an  oak, 

She  conquered  her  pride  and  set  out  to  invoke 
The  aid  of  Professor  Precise  of  the  College  ; 

And  knowing  him  not  of  her  personal  knowledge, 

She  ventured  because  it  had  come  to  pass 

That  the  Finishing  School  knew  the  Sophomore  Class. 

Professor  Precise  was  a bashful  man. 

He  blushed,  he  stammered,  he  almost  ran ; 

And  first,  in  his  utter  confusion,  he  said 
He  had  seen  a triangle  as  round  as  his  head, 


PROFESSOR  PRECISE . 


17 


And  then  he  explained  by  the  rule  of  three 
That  the  sides  and  the  angles  must  always  be 
Equi-dentical  — meaning  of  course  equi-numerous  — 
And  fell  into  other  mistakes  equi-humorous. 

But  soon,  being  filled  with  his  theme,  or  perhaps, 

Since  learned  professors  are  still  human  chaps, 

Having  slyly  inspected  the  arid  Miss  Phoebe, 

Who  was,  to  be  sure,  not  exactly  a Hebe, 

To  the  question  of  sex  he  was  wholly  blind, 

And  saw  but  a neuter  inquiring  mind. 

Then  with  diagram,  rule,  and  exact  demonstration, 

He  led  her  right  on  to  the  grand  consummation 
Of  all  her  desires,  a faith  without  flaw 
In  conventional  views  of  triangular  law. 

Here  the  worthy  Professor  of  course  should  have  paused 
Content  with  the  happy  effect  he  had  caused ; 

But  his  pure  mathematical  soul  was  ablaze 

With  the  ardor  of  science,'  and  on  through  the  maze 

Of  Geometry,  — plane,  analytical,  spherical,  — 

Calculus,  — plain,  obscure,  and  chimerical,  — 

Dark  Trigonometry,  wild  Conic  Sections, 

And  on  in  some  other  enticing  directions, 

He  led  the  rapt  maid  at  a perilous  pace, 

Nor  paused  till  he  reached  the  most  dangerous  place 
In  all  mathematics  ; and  then,  ah,  woe  ! 

He  stabbed  her  faith  with  a ruthless  blow ; 

For  he  clearly  proved  by  figures  and  lines, 

Parabolas,  cones,  and  technical  signs, 

That  two  mathematical  lines  may  tend. 

For  ever  and  ever  and  world  without  end, 

Right  toward  each  other  and  yet  never  meet. 


is 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


Alas  for  Miss  Phoebe ! she  fell  at  his  feet 
In  a deathly  swoon ; and,  hearing  her  fall, 

The  Sophomore  Class  came  in  from  the  hall, 

Passed  a vote  of  regret,  not  a man  voting  nay, 

Then  folded  her  neatly  and  bore  her  away. 

’T  was  a terrible  shock,  and  although  she  “ came  to,” 
Perceptibly  paler  and  slimmer  she  grew ; 

The  doubt  that  once  tortured  her  soul  had  fled. 

But  another  and  darker  had  come  in  its  stead. 

She  had  taught  her  Misses  that  lines  would  meet 
If  they  kept  converging,  and  now  this  neat 
And  plausible  doctrine  had  been  assailed 
By  a master-mind,  and  reason  had  failed 
To  repel  the  attack.  There  was  nothing  sure ; 

Science  was  shaken  and  insecure  ; 

And  as  faith  in  her  rules  began  to  wane, 

She  grew  to  feel  that  she  lived  in  vain. 

Now  mark  the  result,  and  blame  her  who  can ; 

As  she  turned  from  science  she  turned  to  man ; 

And  her  heart,  that  had  almost  gone  to  seed, 

Seemed  budding  again,  and  then  indeed 
She  longed  as  only  a spinster  can, 

And  so,  in  like  manner,  she  laid  a plan. 

She  saw  the  Professor  and  begged  for  a pass 
To  the  lectures  he  gave  to  the  Sophomore  Class ; 

He  hemmed  and  he  hawed,  but  he  could  not  escape  her, 
And  so  every  day,  with  her  pencil  and  paper, 

She  sat  and  took  notes  of  the  man  and  the  lecture, 
Then  lingered  behind  with  some  crafty  conjecture 


PROFESSOR  PRECISE. 


19 


That  needed  a word  from  the  worthy  Professor, 

Who  kindly  complied,  and  seemed  never  to  guess  her 
Deep-laid  design,  though  the  Sophomore  Class, 

Gently  closing  one  eye,  offered  odds  on  the  lass. 

One  evening  Miss  Phoebe,  now  desperate  grown, 
Remained  after  lecture  and  all  alone 
With  the  simple  Professor,  and  as  she  partook 
Of  the  banquet  of  reasons  right  out  of  the  book, 

And  the  sweet  logarithmical  flow  of  soul, 

She  felt  she  had  almost  reached  her  goal, 

For  he  seemed  to  be  conscious  at  last  of  her  gender 
And  stated  the  rules  in  a tone  almost  tender. 

She  heeded ; and  said  in  a winsome  way, 

That  she  doted  on  science,  and  that,  each  day, 

As  she  felt  that  her  dotage  was  shared  by  another, 

And  the  lines  of  their  lives  were  approaching  each  other, 
Of  figures  and  facts  she  had  fonder  grown, 

Till  she  really  feared,  as  she  blushed  to  own, 

That  she  lived,  alas,  too  much  in  defiance 
Of  social  demands  and  too  single  to  science. 

Having  sped  her  arrow  thus  tipped  with  brass, 

She  waited  in  hope,  and  the  Sophomore  Class, 

Looking  in  at  the  window,  held  its  breath, 

And  all  for  a moment  was  still  as  death  — 

So  still,  in  fact,  that  Miss  Phoebe  could  hear 
The  Professor’s  old  watch  ticking  loud  and  clear 
In  his  waistcoat.  She  thought  ’t  was  his  heart  beating 
high 

With  reciprocal  passion  and  ecstasy, 

And  graciously  waiving  a formal  request, 


20 


FRAGMENTS  TN  VERSE. 


Considered  it  settled,  and  sank  on  his  breast ; 

And  then,  as  he  stammered,  “ Oh,  my  ! Miss  Severe  ! ” 
She  lovingly  murmured,  “ Yes,  thine  — never  fear.” 

He  reeled,  he  declared ’t  was  “ a matter  of  weight,” 

But  she  whispered,  “ not  long,”  and  suggested  the  date  ; 
And  the  Sophomore  Class,  rushing  in  apropos, 
Pronounced  it  a bargain  and  quite  comme  il  faut, 

So  it  gave  him  away  with  a blessing  and  cheer, 

And  the  Finishing  School  had  a wedding  that  year. 


SAY  YES,  PETITE. 


CAY  yes,  Petite,  to  love’s  appeal, 
And  take  me  — and  the  chances 

In  sweet  communion  let  us  feel 
The  force  of  circumstances. 

We  ’ll  take  a furnished  house,  my  dove 
Let  Stanton  take  our  orders  ; 

And  then  I ’ll  take  my  comfort,  love, 
And  you  shall  take  some  boarders. 

Then  shall  my  usefulness  appear, 

And  your  devotion  shine ; 

For  I ’ll  collect  your  bills,  my  dear, 
And  you  shall  settle  mine. 

We  ’ll  keep  no  help,  with  petty  steals 
To  eat  up  all  the  profit ; 

But  you  shall  gayly  cook  the  meals 
And  have  the  credit  of  it. 

At  Grace  Church  you  shall  take  a pew 
And  go  there  on  a Sunday, 

To  better  fit  yourself  to  do 
Your  washing  on  a Monday. 


22 


FRA  G ME  NTS  IN  VERSE . 


You  ’ll  find  me  slow  to  interfere  — 
Save  in  my  own  behalf ; 

And  never  have  to  want,  my  dear, 
Unless  I want  to  have. 

And  should  you  falter  in  the  strife, 

Or  fail  and  fall  in  trouble, 

I ’ll  then  consent  to  single  life 
In  preference  to  double ; 

And  cheerfully  my  footsteps  bend 
Along  some  other  track, 

Until  your  circumstances  mend 
And  gently  win  me  back. 

So  come  to  me,  my  little  elf, 

My  sweeter  sweet  than  honey ; 

And  bring  me  but  your  charming  self, 
And  just  a little  — - substance . 


Chicago,  1872. 


THE  ONE-EARED  MAN  TO  THE  ONE-EYED 
MAID. 


OINCE  thou  an  eye  for  aye  must  lack 

^ And  I an  ear  for  e’er  must  miss, 

That  we  should  marry  seems  to  smack 
Of  common  sense  as  well  as  bliss. 

Happy  the  wife  may  hope  to  be 
Who  goes  through  life  a little  blind  ; 

And  lucky  man,  perchance,  is  he 
Who,  marrying,  leaves  an  ear  behind. 

One  eye  to  note  my  daily  way 

May  give  thee  more  content  than  two ; 

And  though  thy  voice  is  sweet  to-day, 
Yet,  on  the  whole,  one  ear  will  do. 

Weird  though  I look,  whate’er  betide, 

I ’ll  never  be  two-eared  for  thee, 

And  I should  never  wish  my  bride 
To  have  or  be  too  wise  for  me. 

Then  let  us  hasten  to  apply 
This  one  idea,  sweet  one-eyed  dear, 

And  thou  shalt  cease  to  mourn  an  eye 
And  I ’ll  no  more  lament  an  ear. 


TO  MY  NEIGHBOR. 


T ’VE  a neighbor  — such  a neighbor 
Just  as  good  as  she  can  be ; 

(Which  is  all  one  can  expect  of 
Her  or  any  other  she). 

She  is  fairer  — somewhat  fairer  — 
Than  a host  of  plainer  folk ; 

And  she  has  a certain  manner 
Not  intended  to  provoke. 

When  she  smiles  her  face  relaxes 
(Just  as  you ’d  expect  it  to) 

And  assumes  a pleased  expression 
(As  of  course  it  ought  to  do). 

When  she  speaks  her  voice  is  vocal 
(As  a voice  should  always  be) 

And  her  eyes  are  not  defective 
(Or  at  least  they  seem  to  see). 

Such  a charmer  is  my  neighbor ; 

And  I always  rave  like  this 

When  I venture  to  describe  her  — * 

As  is  due  to  any  miss. 


TO  E.  J.  G. 


T T E was  a plausible  oculist  man 

■*-  And  she  was  a cross-eyed  maid, 

And  scanning  her  face  with  a critical  scan, 

In  a positive  voice  he  said  : 

“ For  years  I Ve  studied  the  organ  of  sight, 
And  rarely  admit  surprise  ; 

But  really  I never  have  met  with  quite 
Such  a beautiful  pair  of  eyes. 

“ Of  eyes  attractive  I ’m  sure  I Ve  seen 
A million,  — or  more,  if  you  please,  — 

But  never  were  eyes  of  woman,  I ween, 
Attracted  each  other  as  these. 

“ I Ve  seen  them  crossed  at  every  angle 
Acute,  obtuse,  and  right ; 

I Ve  seen  them  lose  in  a hopeless  tangle 
Their  kinky  lines  of  sight. 

“ But  the  genuine  spiral  cross  has  never 
Before  been  submitted  to  me. 

I Ve  heard  of  it,  read  of  it,  dreamed  of  it  ever, 
And  now,  thank  Heaven,  I see.” 


2 6 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


She  came  and  went  and  he  treated  the  case, 
And  talked  of  her  wonderful  eyes, 

And  when  he  had  cured  the  defect  in  her  face 
She  gave  him  her  heart  for  his  prize. 

But  faultless  optics  no  charm  possessed 
For  this  singular  oculist  man  ; 

His  interest  waned,  and  she  passed  into  rest 
By  the  usual  drug-store  plan. 


TO  EUGENE  FIELD. 


ORGIVE,  dear  youth,  the  forwardness 


Of  her  who  blushing  sends  you  this, 
Because  she  must  her  love  confess, 

Alas  ! Alas ! A lass  she  is. 

Long,  long,  so  long,  her  timid  heart 
Has  held  its  joy,  in  secrecy, 

Being  by  nature’s  cunning  art 
So  made,  so  made,  so  maidenly. 

She  knew  you  once,  but  as  a pen 
In  humor  dipt  in  wisdom’s  pool, 

And  gladly  gave  her  homage  then 
To  one,  to  one,  too  wonderful ; 

But  having  seen  your  face,  so  mild, 

So  pale,  so  full  of  animus, 

She  can  but  cry  in  accents  wild, 

Eugene  ! Eugene  ! You  genius  ! 


THE  OLD  STORY. 


Read  before  the  Chicago  Literary  Club  in 
November,  1876. 

A BARK  long  tossed  on  a restless  sea, 

Bearing  a soul  to  its  destiny, 

Drew  near  to  an  unknown  land. 

But  darkness  hung  on  the  shore  like  a cloud, 
Wrapping  land  and  sea  in  a sombre  shroud, 

And  the  land  sent  forth  no  voice,  no  light 
To  the  sea ; but  the  land  lay  dead  in  the  night, 
And  the  waves  lay  dead  on  the  sand. 

And  the  soul  looked  forth  disquieted, 

And  saw  no  beacon  or  land  ahead, 

And  the  soul  said,  Oh  ! never  before 
On  the  changeful  sea  came  a starless  night 
But  the  dawn  came  out  of  it,  bringing  the  light ; 
And  never  was  harbor  could  win  this  sail 
From  the  open  main,  the  wave,  and  the  gale : 
But  what  of  this  night  and  this  shore  ? 

The  sea  sang  oft  of  a port  to  be  made, 

Where  the  sails  are  furled  and  the  waves  are  laid 
In  a slumbrous  calm  for  aye,  — 

Of  a radiant  land  that  stretches  away 


THE  OLD  STORY. 


29 


In  limitless  realms  of  endless  day, 

Where  for  ever  and  ever  the  soul  shall  reign 
In  shining  city  and  fruitful  plain, 

Under  a smiling  sky. 

And  oft  when  the  day  was  chill  and  dark 
The  North  Wind  came  to  this  drifting  bark, 

With  a tale  of  a wreck  to  be 
On  the  shore  of  a barren  and  silent  land, 

Where  ships  lie  rotting  upon  the  strand, 

And  the  brave  and  beautiful  souls  they  bore 
Have  perished  for  ever,  and  evermore, 

As  the  light  of  a torch  in  the  sea. 

Ah ! what  know  the  waves  that  pause  at  the  beach, 
Or  what  can  the  circling  sea-winds  teach 
Of  the  land  beyond  the  tide,  — 

What  shapes  of  death  or  what  forms  of  life, 

What  peace  unbroken  or  endless  strife, 

Gray  wastes  of  desert  or  fields  of  bloom, 

Eternal  day  or  Oblivion’s  gloom, 

That  curtain  of  cloud  may  hide  ? 


’Twixt  promise  and  warning  came  furtive  doubt 
On  restless  wing,  and  hovered  about 
This  desolate  soul  of  man. 

And  all  unseen,  from  out  of  the  realm 
Of  Mystery,  came  and  stood  at  the  helm 
The  pilot  that  here  on  the  lonely  shore 
Had  waited  this  bark  and  the  soul  it  bore, 

Since  ever  the  world  began. 


30 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE . 


And  so  this  waif  on  a pitiless  tide  — 

This  bark  with  its  soul  and  the  ghostly  guide 
To  the  beach  came  silently. 

Ana  some  there  are  by  whom  it  is  said 
The  soul  in  that  wreck  on  the  sand  lies  dead 
And  many  who  dream  that  it  evermore  lives 
Somewhere  in  that  shadowy  land  that  gives 
No  mariner  back  to  the  sea. 


RHYMING  LETTERS  FROM  ABROAD. 


ALGIERS. 


“ A LETTER  from  Africa  ! Ah  ! ” you  will  say, 

“ A voice  in  the  wilderness  crying  ” — but  stay ; 
Don’t  pity  me  now,  time  was,  it  is  true, 

When  a touch  of  that  sentiment  clearly  was  due 
To  the  exile  from  home,  — when  the  rollicking  sea 
Was  having  its  will  of  him  shamefully  ; 

But  now,  thank  God,  whose  omnipotent  hand 
Hath  set  bounds  to  the  sea  and  made  solid  the  land, 
That  season  is  past,  and  the  tide  of  emotion, 

That ’s  subject  to  change,  like  the  tides  of  the  ocean, 
The  balance  of  trade,  or  the  current  of  fashion, 

Now  sets  toward  you  — and  you  have  my  compassion. 
Poor  fellow  ! You  linger  at  home  amid  friends, 

Where  pleasure  solicits  and  comfort  attends, 

And  yet  cannot  know  as  at  last  I know 
The  uttermost  happiness  here  below. 

I ’ve  found  it,  and  not  — you  may  learn  with  surprise  — 
In  the  balm  of  the  air  and  the  sunlit  skies, 

The  fragrance  of  flowers,  the  orange  and  palm, 

The  freshness  of  verdure,  the  color  and  calm 
Of  this  tropical  shore,  but,  thanks  to  old  ocean, 

In  the  fact  that  it  has  no  perceptible  motion. 

Let  the  wind  sigh  low  or  in  tempest  roar, 

Let  it  blow  where  it  listeth.  I care  no  more  ; 

I smile  at  the  billows  and  scoff  at  the  blast 
From  the  deck  of  a continent  anchored  fast. 


3 


34 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


And  this  is  the  land  of  the  boundless  wastes 
Where  the  lion  is  free  to  indulge  his  tastes 
In  mutton  or  men  as  the  case  may  be ; 

Where  the  gentle  elephant  flutters  free, 

Finding  in  liberty  purer  joys 

Than  come  from  peanuts  and  half-price  boys ; 

Where  the  oldest  families  don’t  put  on 

Fine  airs  or  anything  else,  and  ton 

Is  something  unknown  ; where  each  missionary, 

No  matter  how  humble  his  birth  or  how  scary 
His  doctrine,  or  whether  he  seek  it  or  not, 

Is  taken  right  into  society  — hot. 

This  is  matter  of  fact,  but ’t  is  equally  true 
That  I cannot  believe  it  from  this  point  of  view, 
Where,  snugly  ensconced  in  the  best  of  hotels 
I live  at  mine  ease  amid  civilized  swells,  — 

Where  a waiter  from  Germany,  coming  to  me 
With  a plate  of  the  soup  of  the  Chef  de  Paris, 

At  to-night’s  table  d’hote  in  the  salle  h manger, 

In  avoiding  a Lord  who  obstructed  the  way, 
Unluckily  tripped  and  bespattered  Her  Grace, 

Two  Counts,  and  a Marchioness  — all  in  full  dress. 
Surely  here  at  Algiers  one  may  safely  allege 
That  the  darkness  of  Africa  lifts  at  the  edge. 

Here  the  Arab,  as  stately  in  rags  as  a king 
In  his  mantle  of  gold,  hardly  deigning  to  fling 
On  the  dog-of-a-Christian  a glance  of  scorn, 

Stalks  by  in  his  barefooted  pride,  or  is  borne 
Aloft,  on  the  top  of  a load  that  surpasses 
One’s  ready  belief,  by  the  smallest  of  asses ; 

And  whether  he  walks  or  is  mounted  in  state 
He  carries  the  air  of  a ruler  of  fate, 


ALGIERS. 


35 


For  he  knows  with  a knowledge  as  clear  as  the  day 
That  the  only  true  Allah  directeth  his  way. 

Here  the  Moor  sadly  muses  on  glories  departed, 

The  occasional  Nubian  chatters  light-hearted, 

And  here,  over  all,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart, 

But  grasping  a hilt,  plays  the  Frenchman  his  part. 

But  a short  time  ago  — as  the  passage  of  years 
Records  itself  here  — and  the  men  of  Algiers 
Were  the  wickedest  pirates  — between  you  and  me  — 
That  ever  cut  throat,  and  the  scourge  of  the  sea, 

So  history  says  ; and  I ’ve  little  ambition 
To  prove  or  disprove  : I have  no  disposition 
To  ask  of  the  native  who  scowls  at  me  here 
How  his  grandfather  ranked  as  a bold  buccaneer ; 

I am  far  too  polite,  and  besides,  as  a student 
Of  men  and  of  things,  I know  when  to  be  prudent. 

But  whatever  her  past,  the  Algiers  that  we  know 
In  the  matter  of  morals  is  quite  comme  il faut \ 

Nor  better  nor  worse  than  the  average  place 
Where  the  tourist  occurs  ; for  there ’s  no  saving  grace 
Can  enable  a primitive  race  to  withstand 
The  temptation  of  strangers  with  money  in  hand 
Who  are  searching  for  everything  queer  and  old, 

Not  knowing  its  value  and  careless  of  gold. 

What  wonder  if  sometimes  the  man  in  the  shop, 

Where  in  search  of  “ antiques  ” you  may  happen  to  stop, 
Should  prize  the  old  dagger  that  catches  your  eye, 
Should  recall  with  a perfectly  natural  sigh 
How  it  came  to  himself  through  a very  long  line 
Of  remarkable  ancestors,  then  should  decline 
To  consider  a sale,  tell  the  pretty  romance 


36 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


Of  that  wonderful  gem  in  the  hilt,  and  perchance, 

Being  overpersuaded,  should  finally  sell 
This  very  historical  treasure  for  — well, 

Say  thrice  what  he  paid  for  the  same  last  week 

To  his  neighbor  who  made  it  — and  made  it  “ antique  ” ? 

But  adieu  to  Algiers  with  its  hills  of  green 
And  its  bay  of  clear  azure  that  lies  between,  — ~ 

A sapphire  in  emerald  set,  — and  adieu 

To  the  Arab,  the  Mosque,  and  Mahomet  the  true ; 

This  chapter  of  life  I regretfully  close 

And  go  — for  a season  — forever  — who  knows  ? 


NAPLES. 


T HAD  a dream  of  Paradise, 

-*■  A dream  of  opalescent  skies 
And  waters  flashing  in  the  rays 
Of  summer  suns,  a purple  haze 
Of  distant  hills,  a bending  beach, 

A shining  city,  where  the  speech 
Of  happy  children  blithe  and  gay 
With  rippling  music  fills  the  day, 

And  evening  calls  to  softer  strains 
Beneath  a moon  that  never  wanes. 

I saw  this  vision  brightly  beam 
And  called  it  Naples  — in  my  dream 

I sailed,  one  later  hapless  day, 

Into  a dark  and  waveless  bay 
Beneath  a pall  of  dripping  clouds, 

To  shores  that  lay  in  misty  shrouds, 
And  smelt  an  ancient  city  there, 

That  gave  unstinting  to  the  air 
A perfume  neither  nice  nor  new, 

And  yielded  later  to  the  view 
Of  unfamiliar  eyes  a masque 
Of  Ruin  smiling  at  his  task, 

And  Life  cajoling  Poverty 
With  colored  rags  and  minstrelsy ; 
And  thus  I founds  that  cheerless  day, 
My  Naples  and  her  peerless  bay. 


38 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


It  matters  not  that  other  eyes 
Have  seen  her  under  other  skies 
And  found  her  fair.  The  sun  may  shine 
For  joy  of  other  eyes  than  mine  ; 

The  kindly  breeze  may  waft  away 
From  other  nose  that  rich  bouquet ; 

It  may  not  always  rain  all  day ; 

It  may  be  given  to  those  who  stay 
From  year  to  year  to  see  the  break 
Of  washing-day,  or  haply  wake 
To  note  a paucity  of  fleas  ; 

It  may  — Oh  ! anything  you  please 
May  chance  in  time  ; but  how  can  I 
With  easy  conscience  testify 
To  things  unseen  that  might  have  been, 
Or  paint  a never  witnessed  scene  ; 

Let  Naples  be  whate’er  she  may 
To  other  eyes  another  day, 

My  Naples  signifies  but  rains, 

Neuralgic  and  rheumatic  pains, 

Chills,  colds,  quinine,  and  mackintoshes, 
Umbrellas,  puddles,  and  goloshes. 

Hard  by  the  city  — so ’t  is  said  — 
Vesuvius  lifts  his  ruddy  head 
And  forms  a spectacle  sublime. 

It  may  be  so.  In  such  a clime 
A mountain  at  a mile  or  so 
Is  sometimes  seen,  and  if  it  glow 
With  inexpensive  heat  and  light, 

Should  be  at  least  a welcome  sight. 


ROME. 


r“PHERE  was  once  a double  baby,  — 

A Twins,  you  understand,  or  may  be 
Duplicates  would  be  a better  name. 

’T  was  of  that  age  known  as  tender, 

And  were  mostly  boys  in  gender, 

But  they  had  a future  all  the  same. 

For  they  floated  down  the  Tiber  — 

Though  it  puzzles  the  subscriber 
To  explain  exactly  how  or  why  — 

And  instead  of  being  drownded, 

On  a point  of  land  they  grounded, 

And  ashore  they  scrambled  high  and  dry. 

There  a wolf,  maternal,  lonely, 

Yearning  in  her  heart  as  only 

Wolves  can  yearn  for  something  to  protect, 
Found  the  boys  and  had  compassion 
In  the  good  old  fem’nine  fashion, 

Like  a Christian  of  the  strictest  sect. 

And  the  youngsters,  being  nourished, 

Quite  al fresco,  grew  and  flourished, 

And  in  time  they  founded  there  a town 
Which  by  Remus’  kind  consent  was 
Named  for  Romulus,  whose  bent  was 
Rather  more  for  glory  and  renown. 


40 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


So  the  tale  runs,  and ’t  is  clearly 
True  as  tale  can  be,  or  nearly, 

For  I ’ve  seen  the  town  — no  longer  new  — 
And  the  river  flowing  through  it 
With  the  shore  convenient  to  it ; 

So  you  see  the  story  must  be  true. 

More  than  this,  — if  more  is  needed, 

Which  of  course  is  not  conceded,  — 

I have  seen  the  wolf  and  twinlets  twain, 
Done  in  bronze  or  other  metal, 

And  the  grouping  seems  to  settle 

Any  captious  doubts  that  may  remain. 

But ’t  is  hardly  necessary 
To  my  scheme  epistolary 

That  I trace  the  history  of  Rome ; 

So  we  ’ll  skip  a score  or  more  of 
Centuries  with  all  their  store  of 

Great  events,  and  to  the  present  come. 

“ Do  in  Rome  as  do  the  Romans  ” 

Is  an  adage  old,  but  no  man ’s 

Really  bound  to  mind  it  in  the  least ; 

Which  is  lucky,  for  indeed  it 
Would  compel  one,  should  he  heed  it, 

To  become  a cabby  or  a priest. 

Let  me  say  in  explanation 
That  the  native  population 

Seems  to  run  to  holiness  or  horse ; 


ROME. 


41 


Just  about  one  half  the  total 
Taking  to  the  sacerdotal, 

And  the  other  half  to  cabs,  of  course. 

And  although  it ’s  not  conceded 
That  so  many  priests  are  needed 
Where  so  little  politics  is  done, 

It  is  clear  as  any  crystal, 

Or  the  style  of  this  epistle, 

As  to  cabs,  there ’s  need  of  every  one. 

Not  for  priest  alone  or  tourist, 

But  the  fleas,  — the  very  poorest,  — 

“ Ride  in  Chaises  ” over  here,  I find  : 

And  although  they  ’re  but  a billion, 

Every  single  separate  million 

Wants  a carriage  to  itself  — d’  ye  mind  ? 

Just  a carriage  for  the  party 
And  a tourist  a la  car-te 

(That ’s  for  rhyme)  is  fun  enough  for  fleas, 
And  the  victim,  Nolens  volens , 

Shares  his  cab  and  e’en  his  woollens 
With  the  restless  aborigines. 

And  the  worst  of  this  arrangement 
Is  the  fact  that  no  estrangement 

Comes  to  rid  him  of  his  vulgar  guests. 
Whither  he  goes  they  will  go  too, 

And  he  can’t  ex  mero  motu 
Work  a change  of  feeling  in  their  breasts. 


42 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


But  I think  I hear  you  railing, 

And  of  course  it  is  a failing, 

And  I ought  to  note  the  things  sublime ; 
But  I pray  you  wait  a minute, 

For  the  plan  has  method  in  it : 

And  will  justify  itself  in  time. 

Better  far  to  take  the  lowly 
On  our  passage  to  the  holy  — 

Working  up  the  feeling  by  degrees  — 

Than  to  open,  eon  amove , 

With  St.  Peter’s  and  its  glory 
And  to  feebly  perorate  on  fleas. 

Rising  then  to  contemplation 
Of  the  things  of  reputation, 

Here ’s  the  Forum  well  deserves  a word,  — 
Just  a mammoth  excavation 
And  a scene  of  desolation, 

Where  the  voice  of  Caesar  once  was  heard. 

Oh,  to  see  again  the  Templa 
And  the  other  fine  exempla 

Of  the  art  that  poets  long  have  sung ; 

And  to  hear  the  men  that  sat  in 
Council  here  and  bandied  Latin 
As  a free  and  easy  mother-tongue  ! 

Think  of  men  — outside  of  college  — 
Cracking  jokes  and  swapping  knowledge 
In  impromptu  Latin  prose,  and  each, 


ROME. 


Even  members  from  the  very 
Slummy  districts,  making  merry 
With  the  most  punctilious  parts  of  speech. 

Yonder  where  the  rector  solemn 
Sits  upon  a fallen  column 

With  his  eyes  on  Murray’s  pages  bent, 
’Rose  a temple  once  to  Castor, 

Twin  of  Pollux,  and  a master 
Of  the  dusky  arts  then  prevalent. 

And  the  girl  from  Boston,  sitting 
In  a dress  of  Paris  fitting 

On  the  block  of  marble  over  there, 

Marks  the  spot  where  young  Augustus 
“ Mashed  ” the  vestal  virgins,  just  as 
Youthful  Gussies  still  do  everywhere. 

Here  did  Brutus,  wily  master, 

Cassius  and  the  envious  Casca, 

Plot  to  hasten  hated  Caesar’s  end. 

Here  Mark  Antony,  — to  borrow 
Shakespeare’s  language,  — full  of  sorrow, 
Came  to  bury,  not  to  praise,  his  friend. 

Let  us  spend  an  hour  or  two  in 
Merely  glancing  at  the  ruin 

Of  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars  on  the  hill. 
Where  a deal  of  excavation 
Gives  a little  intimation 

Of  a Roman  ruler’s  domicil. 


44 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


Here ’t  is  well  — and  customary  — 

To  remark  how  temporary 

Are  the  works  of  puny  mortal  man, 

And  how  very  transitory 
Are  the  power,  and  pomp,  and  glory 
Of  the  life  that ’s  measured  by  a span. 

- And  of  course  we  can’t  neglect  on 
This  occasion  to  reflect  on 

Kingly  Caesar  dead  and  turned  to  clay ; 
And  to  wonder  if  it  may  be 
That  he  really  can  to-day  be 

Stopping  holes  to  keep  the  wind  away. 

But  it  may  be  well  to  choose  some 
Other  topic  not  so  grewsome, 

Or  perhaps  it  will  be  next  surmised  — 
And  the  thought  is  far  from  pleasing  — 
That  we  owe  a fit  of  sneezing 
To  a pinch  of  Nero  pulverized. 


VENICE. 


T STAND  in  Venice  — just  as  Byron  did  — 

A A-thinking  obvious  thoughts  of  land  and  sea, 

And  mourn  that  he  should  first  have  stood  amid 
Her  crumbling  palaces,  and  made  so  free 
With  certain  thoughts  which  now  occur  to  me, 

And  used  the  very  language  I would  fain 
Have  wrapped  them  in : Alas,  that  such  as  he 
Should  first  have  found  the  field  and  stol’n  the  grain 
And  that  I can’t  with  credit  steal  it  back  again. 

I ’d  like  to  stand  upon  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  — 

If  I could  do  it  of  mine  own  accord  — 

And  see  “ from  out  the  wave  her  structures  rise,”  — 
But  that  again ’s  exactly  what  milord 
Records  that  he  did,  and  I can’t  afford 
To  crib  his  vision  from  his  point  of  view. 

Alas  ! why  could  n’t  he  stay  and  be  abhorred 
In  virtuous  England,  ’stead  of  saying  adieu 
To  native  land  and  coming  here  to  sin  anew? 

What  Venice  was  in  that  historic  day 
That  dawned  upon  the  glory  of  her  prime, 

Let  others  sing  in  more  exalted  lay ; 

And  leave  to  me,  and  this  my  careless  rhyme, 

The  city  of  the  tourist  and  the  time. 


4 6 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE . 


The  gilded  ruins  of  an  age  of  gold, 

The  lingering  echoes  of  a strain  sublime, 

And  this  alone  in  splendor  as  of  old,  — 

Th’  unfading  light  that  softly  lies  on  scar  and  mould. 

There  is  a time  for  memory  and  a mood 
For  chronicles  and  glimpses  of  the  past; 

But  here ’s  the  fairest  day  that  ever  wooed 
The  spirit  to  itself,  and  o’er  it  cast 
A chain  of  happy  hours  to  bind  it  fast 
In  sweet  forgetfulness  of  other  days ; 

And  while  its  tinted  lights  and  shadows  last 
I ’ll  vex  my  soul  with  no  historic  maze, 

Nor  thread  with  pedant’s  chart  these  still  and  watery 
ways. 

« 

It  is  enough  that  on  yon  stately  pile, 

Bearing  the  graven  shield  that  blazons  yet 
To  heedless  eyes,  the  pride  that  swelled  a while 
Within  the  breast  of  some  forgotten  pet 
Of  fickle  fortune,  sun  and  storm  have  set 
In  gold  and  gray  and  wrinkled  fantasies 
The  seal  of  Time,  the  King  : let  me  forget 
The  span  of  life,  and  let  the  hour  that  flies 
Be  to  my  soul  the  touch  of  passing  centuries. 

I see  the  wide  lagoons  a waste  again, 

Where  beat  the  pulses  of  the  sea  alone ; 

Then  squalid  huts  of  men,  out  cast  of  men, 

The  sails  of  Commerce  seeking  for  her  own. 

The  city  rising  slowly,  stone  on  stone, 

Beyond  the  reach  of  the  incoming  tide, 


VENICE. 


47 


And  all  the  golden  years  to  history  known 
Of  thrift  and  valor  wed  and  conquest  wide, 

And  splendors  fit  to  nourish  an  immortal  pride. 

Yet  shall  I see,  this  day,  with  vision  clear 
As  ever  Knight  of  War  and  Carnival, 

The  Soul  of  Venice.  Forth,  my  gondolier, 

And  push  thy  prow  adown  the  Grand  Canal, 

And  past  the  Riva,  past  the  Arsenal 
And  mimic  park,  far  out  from  gleaming  shore 
Into  the  path  of  ships,  till  out  of  all 
The  dim  and  distant  city  come  no  more 
The  weary  sounds  and  shapes  of  life  : here  stay  thine 
oar. 


RIVIERA. 


T ONG  I wandered,  ever  chilly, 

Seeking  warmth  and  finding  not ; 
Came  at  last  to  Riviera, 

Most  extremely  favored  spot, 

Where  the  temperature  has  never 
Yet  been  known  to  rise  or  fall, 

And  the  straw  hat  blooms  all  winter 
With  the  colored  parasol. 

Here  in  March  I find  the  fig-tree 
Putting  forth  its  ample  leaf — 

Once  considered  rather  dressy  — 

And  the  strawberry  the  chief 
Diet  of  the  poorer  classes, 

And  the  season  growing  late 
For  the  toothsome  new  potato 
And  the  green  pea  out  of  date. 

Here  at  last  I find  the  sunshine 
Very  bright  and  blazing  hot, 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  I shiver, 

Seeking  warmth  and  finding  not. 

Can  it  be  the  dreaded  Mistral 

Sweeping  down  from  Alpine  snows? 
Hardly  — when  from  morn  to  night  and 
Every  day  the  South  Wind  blows : 


RIVIERA. 


49 


Can  it  be  a bit  of  ague 

Lurking  somewhere  in  my  breast 
Smuggled  from  its  home  and  mine  in 
The  remote  malarial  west? 

Ah  ! full  well  I know  the  reason,  — 
Reason  too  express  and  clear 
To  be  doubted  for  a moment,  — 

*T  is  the  English  atmosphere. 

As  the  flakes  of  snow  that  herald 
Near  approach  of  wintry  weather, 
Each  so  very  like  the  other, 

All  inclined  to  drift  together, 

So  the  really  truly  English 
Settle  down  upon  the  land, 

And  reduce  the  mean  caloric 
In  the  way  they  understand. 
Gathered  in  a land  of  plenty  — 
Self-appointed  lords  of  all,  — 

They  consume  the  milk  and  honey, 
And  diffuse  ice-cream  and  gall. 
Here  a little  British  nation, 

Knowing  but  itself  alone, 

Very  proud  of  the  acquaintance, 
Rears  a little  altar  stone 
With  a little  mirror  on  it, 

And  on  humbly  bended  knees, 
Looking  only  on  the  mirror, 
Worships  only  what  it  sees. 

Here  the  truly  British  matron 
Finds  it  very,  very  hard 
That  hotels  are  not  exclusive, 

4 


50 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE. 


That  the  climate  must  be  shared 
With  the  native  and  his  neighbors 
And  with  even,  if  you  please, 

Us,  the  very  awful,  dreadful, 

From  beyond  the  rolling  seas ; 
And  that  really  one  can  hardly 
Find  a soul  that  one  can  know  — 
Save  at  risk  of  one’s  relation 
To  the  classes  down  below. 

Oh,  ye  folk  of  London  feature  ! 

What  a weary  world  is  this, 

Where  the  plans  of  your  Creator 
Thus  have  gone  so  far  amiss 
That  the  upper  class  must  labor 
To  maintain  its  social  crown 
Just  because  the  lower  orders 
Will  not  labor  to  keep  down. 

But  a truce  to  such  reflections, 

Lest  I lose  the  safer  path 
Of  the  mere  complacent  tourist, 

And  perchance  arouse  the  wrath 
Of  the  friend  at  home  — if  haply 
Friends  and  home  remain  to  me  - 
Who  with  imitative  ardor 

Loves  the  thing  he  fain  would  be. 

There ’s  another  old  resorter, 

Quite  a personage  of  note, 

And  a sort  of  standing  target  — 
Here ’s  at  him  with  anecdote. 
Once  upon  a time,  the  Devil, 
Quitting  Paris  for  the  day, 


RIVIERA. 


51 


Flitted  to  the  Riviera 
In  his  own  convenient  way. 

He  was  seeking  rest  and  quiet,  — 

So  his  explanation  ran  ; 

But  he  really  went  on  business, 

Ergo,  fibbed  it  like  a man. 

He  had  watched  the  tide  of  travel 
From  the  north  to  southern  skies 
Grow  in  volume  every  season, 

And  had  noticed  with  surprise 
That  his  gains  in  that  department 
Did  not  seem  to  grow  apace 
With  the  winter  population, 

As  of  course  should  be  the  case. 

He  perceived  that  as  the  people 
Felt  the  spell  of  Nature’s  smiles, 
They  became  the  less  responsive 
To  his  own  peculiar  wiles, 

Seemed  to  lose  their  zeal  in  sinning, 
With  the  truth  were  satisfied, 

And  in  spite  of  all  temptation 
Still  inclined  to  virtue’s  side. 

Clearly  he  must  now  resort  to 
Measures  very  prompt  and  strong, 
Learn  how  things  had  gone  aright,  and 
Then  proceed  to  set  them  wrong. 
Long  he  pondered,  with  his  finger 
Laid  beside  his  Roman  nose, 

And  his  eyes  abstractly  gazing 
At  his  few  peculiar  toes, 

Till  at  last  he  chuckled  softly, 

Like  the  villain  in  a play, 


LIBRARY 

DIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


52 


FRAGMENTS  IN  VERSE . 


Slapped  his  thigh  as  sailors  do,  and 
Muttered  to  himself,  “ Je  l’ai ! ” 

Which,  in  Christian,  means  “ I have  it ! ” 
Then  he  smiled  the  sort  of  smile 
That  he  wears  when  Faust  the  tenor 
Falls  a victim  to  his  guile, 

And  with  spirits  light  and  airy 
Sought  the  Prince  of  Monaco, 

Took  a lease,  and  let  his  contract, 

Then  had  little  more  to  do. 

Monte  Carlo  grows  in  beauty,  — 

Saints  and  sinners  pay  the  cost,  — 

All  the  world  is  freely  bidden, 

And  the  Devil  plays  the  host. 

Not,  of  course,  in  proper  person,  — 

He  has  far  too  much  at  stake, 

With  a world  of  careless  sinners 
And  the  parsons  wide  awake,  — 

But  his  tried  and  trusty  agents 
Play  the  game  and  ply  the  rake ; 

And  on  summing  up  the  season 
He  has  no  complaints  to  make. 


PROSE. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


Read  Before  the  Chicago  Literary  Club  on 
February  18,  1877. 

EACH  year  as  the  22d  of  February  ap- 
proaches, we  are  reminded  that  the  Father 
of  his  Country  was  originally  born  in  a small  way 
and  as  a common  infant.  Waiving  his  peculiar 
right  to  be  born  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  he 
modestly  appeared  in  the  most  insignificant  month 
of  the  year,  and  at  once  devoted  himself  to  the 
serious  business  of  life.  So  far  as  history  informs 
us,  he  had  no  great  natural  advantages  over  other 
male  children,  and  started  on  his  career  with  no 
special  facilities  for  becoming  President. 

He  was  at  that  time  of  medium  height,  loose- 
jointed,  bald-headed,  and  inexperienced.  He  was 
careless  about  his  dress,  and  natural  in  manner, 
impulsive  and  emotional,  easily  moved  to  tears, 
but  deficient  in  humor;  fond  of  rest  by  day  and 
excitement  by  night ; simple  in  his  tastes ; 
monotonously  severe  in  his  diet;  free  from 
intemperance,  profanity,  pride,  vainglory,  and 
hypocrisy.  In  short,  he  had  no  bad  habits 
which  he  could  not  reasonably  hope  to  outgrow, 
and  no  remarkable  development  of  character  or 


56 


ADDRESSES. 


intellect.  Indeed,  it  is  reported  by  some  of  his 
nurses  who  still  live,  that  at  this  period  of  his 
life  the  Father  of  his  Country  had  a soft  spot  in 
his  head. 

He  evinced  at  an  early  age  those  democratic 
instincts  which  in  later  life  made  him  the  idol  of 
the  people.  He  associated  freely  with  the  juvenile 
produce  of  his  father’s  slaves,  sharing  with  them 
the  glory  of  mud-pies  and  other  primitive  forms 
of  keramic  art,  and  winning  their  marbles  as 
cheerfully  and  unaffectedly  as  if  the  little  picka- 
ninnies had  been  germs  of  royalty  or  the  off- 
spring of  archangels.  His  pride  was  in  his  game, 
and  not  in  his  Caucasian  blood.  As  a boy  he 
loved  his  fellow-beings  without  distinction  of 
color,  and  when  he  grew  up  and  owned  a good 
many  of  them,  he  valued  the  blackest  man  as 
highly  as  if  he  had  been  yellow  or  of  some  inter- 
mediate shade  — the  market  price  being  the 
same.  The  natural  feeling  which  prompted  some 
proprietors  to  think  more  of  the  lighter  tints  was 
merged  in  the  grand  catholicity  of  his  love  for 
mankind. 

We  now  turn  to  an  incident  of  his  early  life 
which  has  been  strangely  overlooked  by  the 
historians,  but  which  deserves  to  be  regarded  as 
a most  significant  event.  When  he  was  about 
nine  years  old  he  became  the  possessor  of  a 
hatchet.  He  saw  in  this  not  the  emblem  of 
cruelty,  — the  tomahawk  of  the  savage,  — but 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


5 7 


the  implement  of  industry ; and  straightway  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  study  of  its  uses.  In  his 
father’s  garden  was  a cherry-tree  which  bore  no 
figs ; and  he  heard  a voice  crying,  “ Cut  it  down  ! 
Why  cumbereth  it  the  ground  ? ” and  another 
voice,  “ Woodman,  spare  that  tree  ! ” He  thought 
it  might  be  spared,  and  he  cut  it  down. 

As  he  was  about  finishing  his  task  he  observed 
his  father  approaching,  and  trimming  a long 
switch  in  a quiet  and  thoughtful  manner.  The 
latter  playfully  asked  George  if  he  was  fond  of 
chopping,  and  whether  he  intended  to  do  much 
more  that  day,  and  about  how  long  he  thought 
it  would  take  him  to  finish  the  orchard  if  he  were 
excused  from  morning  prayers,  and  had  his  meals 
sent  out  to  him ; and  then,  recurring  to  the  fallen 
tree,  he  inquired,  with  considerable  directness, 
who  cut  it  down.  George  perceived  the  change 
in  his  father’s  manner,  but  kept  on  trimming  the 
butt  with  his  hatchet,  and  observed  in  his  childish 
way  that  the  curculio  was  a sore  destroyer  of 
cherry-trees;  that  the  frost  sometimes  cut  off 
vegetation  with  neatness  and  despatch ; and  that 
only  the  day  before  he  had  heard  a neighbor’s 
boy  bragging  about  a new  hatchet. 

At  last,  finding  his  father  unimaginative,  and 
little  given  to  speculative  philosophy,  he  re- 
marked that,  inasmuch  as  he  found  himself  un- 
able to  tell  a lie  successfully,  he  was  convinced 
that  honesty,  under  the  circumstances,  was  the 


53 


ADDRESSES. 


best  policy,  and  he  would  frankly  admit  that  the 
performance  which  his  father  had  just  witnessed 
was  not  an  optical  illusion ; and  taking  the  pater- 
nal hand,  — or  vice  versa , — he  entered  the  house. 

In  the  parlor  concert  which  followed,  the 
Father  of  his  Country,  prompted  by  the  Grand- 
father of  his  Country,  executed  the  recitative, 
staccato,  and  crescendo  in  admirable  style,  and, 
without  waiting  for  an  encore,  retired  early  to 
the  seclusion  of  his  little  bed,  musing  on  the 
past,  and  trusting  that  in  this  case  history  would 
not  repeat  itself. 

Thus,  for  a trifling  impediment  in  his  speech, 
our  hero  was  switched  off  the  line  of  horticul- 
tural industry  into  the  example  business. 

Later  in  life,  he  was  married  to  one  Martha,  the 
Mother  of  her  Country,  an  exemplary  and  stately 
matron,  who  doubted  that  it  was  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive,  and  compromised  the  mat- 
ter by  giving  receptions.  His  wife,  however, 
with  his  farewell  address  and  false  teeth,  belong 
to  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  and  it  is  not  pro- 
posed at  this  time  to  trace  the  remoter  conse- 
quences of  his  birth. 

Returning  then  to  his  childhood,  are  there  not 
some  lessons  to  be  drawn  from  its  incidents  which 
are  worthy  of  our  study?  When  examined  in  the 
light  of  this  history  how  transparent  are  some  of 
the  popular  delusions  of  to-day ! He  could  not 
tell  a lie,  — we  have  his  own  word  for  that,  — and 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 


59 


yet  he  succeeded  in  politics.  Can  we  longer  ad- 
here to  the  modern  doctrine  of  political  neces- 
sities? We  learn,  too,  that  notwithstanding 
occasional  exceptions  to  the  rule,  virtue  hath 
its  own  reward.  George  told  the  truth  about 
the  cherry-tree,  and  suffered  for  a time  in  conse- 
quence; but  to-day  a great  city  bears  his  name 
as  a tribute  to  his  truthfulness,  and  clings  to  the 
truth  with  a faithfulness  worthy  of  its  name.  It 
is  easier  to  tear  the  babe  from  its  mother,  than 
to  get  the  truth  from  that  city.  He  told  the 
truth  and  suffered ; but  a grateful  people  period- 
ically think  of  raising  a monument  to  his  mem- 
ory, and  he  has  bequeathed  his  name  very 
generally  to  the  posterity  of  other  patriots. 

Of  course,  it  is  not  intended  by  reference  to 
this  grand  example  to  indicate  that  Washington 
might  not  have  achieved  immortality  by  other 
means,  or  that  no  American  youth  can  hope  to 
realize  his  district  school  ambition,  save  by  com- 
mencing on  cherry-trees.  We  have  moralized  in 
vain,  if  this  is  our  conclusion.  We  rather  choose 
to  believe  that  the  method  is  unimportant  if  the 
principle  be  followed;  that  it  would  probably 
answer  the  purpose  as  well  to  rob  a hen-roost  or 
steal  a watermelon,  provided,  always,  the  deed  be 
confessed  if  necessary.  Let  the  boys  of  to-day 
study  the  example  of  this  noble  youth,  who  told 
the  truth  because  he  could  not  tell  a lie,  and  we 
shall  not  lack  material  for  Presidents. 


A PORTION  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT 
REWRITTEN. 


Read  before  the  Chicago  Literary  Club  on 
May  19,  1879. 

SOME  weeks  ago  a certain  eminent  divine,  who 
has  yet  the  grace  to  be  human,  preached  a 
sermon  on  Ingersoll  as  a Bible-critic,  and  in 
the  course  of  his  remarks  frankly  admitted  that 
the  orthodox  churches  contained  some  members 
who,  by  their  bald  and  literal  interpretation,  were 
not  less  inimical  to  the  Scriptures  than  those  who 
openly  attacked  them. 

He  said  that  the  Old  Testament  should  be  re- 
garded and  read,  not  as  a veritable  history,  but 
as  a poem.  This  remark  so  impressed  me  that  I 
walked  home  in  a brown  study,  and  before  reach- 
ing my  door  had  resolved  to  remedy,  in  some 
measure  at  least,  the  error  which  the  minister 
had  pointed  out. 

It  was  evident  that  the  Old  Testament  was  not 
commonly  recognized  as  a poem  because  it  did 
not  look  like  one ; and  that  its  parables  and  met- 
aphors were  lost  to  the  general  reader  by  lack  of 
suggestion  in  the  narrative.  Why  should  not  I 
rewrite  the  story  in  modern  verse  (which  to  the 


OLD  TESTAMENT  REWRITTEN. 


6l 


multitude  might  seem  a poem),  and  while  adorn- 
ing the  tale  point  the  moral  here  and  there  for 
the  instruction  of  those  less  versed  in  the  myste- 
ries of  applied  Scripture? 

I felt  that  it  was  a grand  conception ; and  fear- 
ing lest  some  other  philanthro-poet  should  antic- 
ipate me  in  the  good  work,  I opened  the  family 
Bible  and  commenced  upon  the  first  chapter  of 
Genesis,  thus : — 

“ In  the  beginning,”  — that  is,  as  it  were, 

Along  at  first,  — quite  early,  though  of  course 
Not  quite  at  first,  but  formerly,  before 
Some  later  efforts  of  creative  force, — 

and  so  on,  the  design  being  to  show  the  very 
early  creation  of  the  heaven  and  the  earth  with- 
out committing  the  text  to  any  positive  state- 
ment as  to  the  absolute  beginning  of  time ; and 
thus  to  avoid  the  first  stumbling-block  presented 
by  the  old  version. 

It  is  perhaps  needless  to  say  that  the  work  as 
it  progresses  presents  some  technical  difficulties. 
Thus,  in  doing  the  book  of  the  generations  of 
Noah,  it  requires  some  ingenuity  to  express  in 
perfect  rhythm  and  faultless  rhyme  the  compli- 
cated fact  that  “ Joktan  begat  Almodad,  and 
Sheleph,  and  Hazarmaveth,  and  Jerah,  and  Ha- 
doram,  and  Uzal,  and  Diklah,  and  Obal,  and 
Abimael,  and  Sheba,  and  Ophir,  and  Havilah, 
and  Jobab:  all  these  were  the  sons  of  Joktan.” 


62 


ADDRESSES. 


I have  found,  however,  that  on  such  occasions 
a metre  formed  by  a peculiar  combination  of 
Walt  Whitman  and  the  multiplication  table  an- 
swered the  purpose  tolerably  well,  though  the 
result,  I fancy,  somewhat  lacks  the  poetic  fervor 
and  lofty  inspiration  of  other  passages. 

But  to  illustrate  by  a few  extracts  the  charac- 
ter and  purpose  of  the  work,  let  us  take,  for  in- 
stance, the  story  of  the  tempting  apple,  or  the 
fall  of  man. 

It  is  not  easy  to  gather  from  the  old  version 
just  how  the  gift  of  the  apple  to  Adam  entailed 
upon  the  race  the  annoyance  of  perspiration ; but 
by  changing  the  facts  a little  and  the  form  a little 
more  the  matter  is  made  as  plain  as  possible  — 
thus : — 


As  Eve  took  a walk  in  the  Park  one  day 
In  the  early  forenoon  of  time, 

A serpent  came  to  her  and  thus  he  did  say : 

“ Here ’s  yer  apples  now,  three  for  a dime.” 

She  turned  to  depart,  but  he  pressed  her  to  stay. 

She  lingered,  — Ah  ! there  was  her  blunder,  — 
And,  twirling  her  thumbs  in  a diffident  way, 

She  murmured,  “ What ’s  apples,  I wonder.” 

“ Why,  really,”  he  said,  “ is  it  possible,  madam, 
You  don’t  know  ? Ah  ! well,  such  is  life  ; 

But  I never  supposed  that  a man  like  Adam 
Would  play  such  a trick  on  his  wife.” 


OLD  TESTAMENT  REWRITTEN.  63 


“ I see,”  she  exclaimed  ; “ you  mean  that  he  *s  had  ’em 
And  never  divided  with  me. 

Pray  help  me,  good  sir,  to  get  even  with  Adam.” 

“ With  pleasure,  my  lady,”  said  he. 

Now  he  carried  his  apples  all  strung  on  his  tail ; 

So  he  snapped  off  the  end  one,  and  said, 

“ Take  it,  lady,  and  seek  the  old  man  in  the  vale, 

And  put  some  hot  coals  on  his  head, 

“ By  dividing  the  apple  and  giving  him  half  — 

Thus  doing  him  good  for  evil.” 

“ An  excellent  plan,”  she  replied,  with  a laugh, 

And  she  merrily  winked  at  the  devil. 

Then  she  hurried  to  Adam  and  borrowed  his  knife, 

And  cutting  the  apple  in  two, 

Said,  “ Take  a piece,  darling,  your  own  little  wife 
Has  been  waiting  to  share  it  with  you.” 

He  ate ; but  the  keen  recollection  of  how 
He  had  treated  poor  Eve  made  him  wince, 

And  the  coals  on  his  head  made  the  sweat  on  his  brow 
That  has  stuck  to  the  race  ever  since. 

In  like  manner  the  story  of  the  Ark,  which  in 
the  original  version  is  hard  to  understand  and 
extra  hard  to  believe,  when  thus  treated  is  as 
simple  as  a nursery  rhyme,  and  bears  an  obvious 
moral,  as  will  appear : — 

Now  Noah,  being  wondrous  wise, 

Foresaw  a change  of  weather, 

He  built  an  ark  of  goodly  size 
And  got  his  crew  together : 


64 


ADDRESSES. 


Of  sons  and  daughters,  bugs  and  rats, 
Pole-cats  and  polar  bears, 

White  elephants,  baboons,  and  bats,  — 
And  all  in  happy  pairs  ; 

And  mated  frogs  and  wedded  ants, 

And  two  of  every  species 
Of  living  thing,  except,  perchance, 

The  water-snakes  and  fishes ; 

And  then  he  started  on  his  trip, 
Directed  by  the  Fates, 

And  he  was  captain  of  the  ship 
And  all  the  rest  were  mates. 

Day  after  day  they  sailed  about 
Where  never  sail  had  been, 

And  all  the  time  it  rained  without, 

And  Noah  reigned  within. 


He  had  a store  of  proper  food 
And  for  a cook,  his  daughter, 

Who  had  no  lack  of  gopher-wood, 

N or  far  to  go  for  water. 

He  sorted  out  the  animals 
With  nice  discrimination, 

And  prayed  at  stated  intervals 
For  death  — or  ventilation. 

And  when  the  beasts  inclined  to  prey 
He  kept  the  peace  among  ’em, 
Preached  them  a sermon  every  day, 
Gave  out  the  hymns  — and  sung  ’em. 


OLD  TESTAMENT  REWRITTEN.  6 5 


At  last  to  Ararat  he  came  — 

Released  by  saving  grace  — 

Laid  out  a town  upon  the  same, 

And  grew  up  with  the  place. 

Moral. 

Who  lives  a life  of  sanctity 
Shall  profit  by  his  pains; 

For  he  will  know  enough,  you  see, 

To  go  in  when  it  rains. 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  elucidating  the  text  and 
emphasizing  its  lessons  that  the  new  version  is 
useful.  It  serves  to  abstract  and  condense  the 
history  in  many  cases. 

Then  there  is  much  written  of  Samson ; but  the 
average  reader  retains  only  a confused  recollec- 
tion of  his  chief  exploits ; and  so  for  convenience 
the  history  of  this  remarkable  person  is  boiled 
down  into  a few  lines  which  contain  the  salient 
points,  thus : — 

Samson’s  forte  was  catching  foxes, 

Dealing  death  and  paradoxes, 

Piling  corpses  up  in  car-lots, 

Stealing  gates  and  trusting  harlots. 

He  was  not  a common  one  — 

Quite  a queer  phenomenon  — 

But  a misdirected  razor 
Cut  him  off  in  wicked  Gaza. 

Or  at  least  it  cut  off  his  hair,  which  was  about 
all  there  was  of  him. 


66 


ADDRESSES. 


And  so  I might  go  on  with  a mile  or  two  of 
well-intended  rhymes,  showing  how  the  dry  facts 
of  Bible  history  may  be  made  juicy  and  nutritious ; 
but  the  proprieties  forbid  us  to  claim  for  such  a 
purpose  much  of  the  time  of  a company  gathered 
for  secular  purposes  and  somewhat  subject  to 
irreverent  moods. 

I hope  to  complete  the  work  soon,  though  I 
have  lately  encountered  an  obstacle  which  may 
prove  insurmountable ; for  I have  reached  a point 
where  the  metre  requires  a rhyme  for  Potiphar, 
and  the  plan  seems  to  demand  an  explanation, 
acceptable  to  the  modern  metropolitan  mind,  of 
the  course  pursued  by  Joseph  on  one  occasion. 

The  first  difficulty  might  perhaps  be  met  thus : 

In  came  the  wife  of  Potiphar 
And  Joseph  quickly  got  afar; 

but  just  why  he  did  so  I have  not  yet  succeeded 
in  making  clear  and  at  the  same  time  poetical. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE. 


Read  at  the  Chicago  Literary  Club  Reception 
of  October  30,  1882. 

“ /^\UR  Federal  Constitution,”  said  my  uncle 
John,  at  the  close  of  our  quiet  dinner, 
“ protects  us  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  Let  us 
smoke.  ” 

And  as  he  lit  his  cigar  and  took  the  first  whiffs 
in  the  silence  and  perfect  serenity  due  from  the 
smoker  to  his  favorite  brand,  I looked  at  his 
genial  face,  and  reflected  that  without  great 
wealth  or  fame  or  exceptional  gifts,  he  was 
envied  of  men,  and  so  I said  to  him, — 

“Yes,  in  this  free  land  the  pursuit  of  happiness 
is  an  open  chase,  but  one  in  which  the  pursuer  is 
always  baffled. 

“Now  you  have  followed  the  ignis  fatims  till 
your  beard  is  gray;  but  have  you  ever  over- 
taken it?  ” 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “ I have  never  caught  the 
flame  in  my  hat,  as  some  men  are  said  to 
have  done,  but  I believe  that  I have  at  last  come 
within  the  circle  of  its  light  and  warmth ; and  if 
you  can  restrain  your  talking  propensities  long 
enough  to  hear  me,  and  won’t  be  too  critical  of 


63 


ADDRESSES . 


my  post-prandial  philosophy,  I will  give  you  a 
little  retrospect  of  the  devious  wanderings  which 
have  brought  me  at  sixty  years  to  a position  of 
conscious  superiority,  in  point  of  contentment 
and  happiness,  to  most  persons  in  our  plane  of 
life.” 

Of  course  I readily  promised  silence,  and  my 
uncle  John  proceeded : — 

“ I am  the  more  ready  to  talk  with  you  some- 
what at  length  upon  this  subject,  and  to  give 
you  the  benefit  of  my  experience  and  observa- 
tion, because  I am  satisfied  that,  as  there  is  no 
problem  relating  to  this  life  alone  more  important 
than  this  question  of  happiness,  so  there  is  none 
through  which  men  grope  so  blindly. 

‘‘There  is  in  every  community  like  ours  a large 
class  of  persons  who  are  above  the  misery  of 
hunger,  want,  and  most  forms'of  hardship,  yet  not 
exceptionally  fortunate  in  the  general  conditions 
of  life,  who  constitute  the  body  of  what  we  call 
society. 

“ These  people  have  the  preparatory  education 
of  the  college  and  seminary,  intelligence,  con- 
ventional courtesy  and  morality,  self-respect  and 
ambition.  These  qualities  commonly  lead  to  a 
fair  competence,  and  secure  a social  position 
entirely  respectable.  It  is  of  the  happiness  pos- 
sible to  such  people,  and  especially  some  of  the 
common  errors  of  pursuit,  that  I am  speaking.” 

“ Then,”  said  I,  interrupting  my  uncle,  “ you 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE . 69 


propose  to  teach  me  how  not  to  be  happy. 
That  is  an  art  which  I have  supposed  myself 
capable  of  learning  without  a master.” 

“No  doubt,  my  boy,”  replied  my  uncle,  who 
was  accustomed  thus  to  rejuvenate  me  when  he 
set  out  to  talk  wisely ; “ but,  while  I admit  your 
proficiency,  you  have  not  yet  made  all  the  mis- 
takes open  to  you;  and  perhaps  by  warning  I 
may  save  you  from  blunders  yet  ‘ undreamt  of 
in  your  philosophy,’  unless  indeed  you  are  so 
wedded  to  your  errors  that,  like  love’s  follies, 
they  defy  both  precept  and  example. 

“ Of  course  you  will  hardly  expect  me  to  lay 
down  precise  rules  for  the  attainment  of  happi- 
ness. I might  perhaps  give  you  one,  — ‘ Be 
virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy,’  — but  I fancy 
you  would  demand  sub-rules  for  practical  use, 
and  might  even  then  complain  of  the  onerous 
conditions. 

“ Life  is  a labyrinth  of  many  ways,  and  we  gain 
the  true  paths  mainly  by  indirection,  — by  tracing 
out  others  to  find  that  they  lead  astray.” 

“ But,”  said  I,  “ is  not  all  happiness  a mere  delir- 
ium,— a mental  condition  largely  independent  of 
will  and  effort?  ” 

“ No,”  he  replied,  “ not  the  same  condition  of 
which  I am  speaking.  A drivelling  idiot  may 
seem  to  be  happy  in  that  he  has  no  capacity  for 
care  or  mental  suffering;  but  he  is  not  happy, 
because  he  lacks  the  power  to  know  and  appre- 


70 


ADDRESSES. 


ciate.  A man  is  not  sane  merely  because  he 
cannot  know  that  he  is  insane,  or  awake  simply 
because  he  cannot  be  conscious  of  sleep. 

“ One  may  seem  to  find  ecstasy  in  a grain  of 
opium ; but  he  is  not  happy  in  his  dream,  — he 
simply  dreams  of  happiness.  If  happiness  were, 
as  you  suggest,  a mere  delirium,  then  must  the 
world  either  abandon  the  pursuit,  or  consistently 
multiply  the  means  and  forms  of  intoxication ; 
and  the  spell  must  be  maintained : the  judgment 
must  never  wake  to  know  that  it  has  slept,  or  the 
baseless  fabric  of  the  dream  is  gone. 

“But  to  drift  further  with  the  current  of  your 
question : I can  see,  of  course,  that  there  are 
often  found  happy  conditions  of  mind  that  seem 
inherent.  The  world  is  full  of  laughing  children 
who  appear  to  hold  their  gladness  as  a birthright ; 
and  there  are  men  and  women  of  such  bright 
and  joyous  spirit  that  they  seem  to  see  the  sun 
through  every  cloud ; and  some,  too,  so  maimed 
and  broken,  so  crushed  by  real  affliction,  that  it 
seems  a mockery  to  talk  to  them  of  any  rest  but 
in  the  grave,  or  point  them  to  any  hope  but  that 
which  is  folded  in  the  promise  of  death. 

“ But  I must  remind  you  that  I am  speaking, 
not  of  the  accidents  of  birth  or  temperament  or 
circumstances,  but  of  the  average  man  under 
ordinary  conditions  of  the  individual  and  of  so- 
ciety, and  am  considering  how  far  — or  how 
best  — he  may  with  the  common  opportunities 
of  life  advance  himself  toward  happiness. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE . 7 1 

“You  will  perhaps  say  that  the  churches  point 
the  way.  True,  there  is  a faith  which  lifts  the 
spirit  into  a religious  ecstasy,  — a spiritual  anaes- 
thetic which  steeps  the  soul  in  a painless  dream 
of  happiness  so  sweet  and  so  profound  that  it 
knows  no  ills  and  seeks  no  remedy ; but  to  some 
men  such  faith  never  comes,  though  earnestly 
besought;  and  the  half-faith  that  pervades  soci- 
ety and  makes  for  righteousness  at  intervals  is 
not  the  solace  of  every  hour  nor  the  sufficient 
help  in  all  emergencies. 

“ I am  not  deriding  the  pulpit  or  disputing  its 
wide  domain;  but  there  is  a field  outside  in 
which  the  layman  may  preach  the  homely  philos- 
ophy of  our  daily  life,  and  if  the  pulpit  pronounce 
the  theme  ignoble,  reply  with  Pope,  — 

“ 4 For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  zealots  fight ; 

He  can’t  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the  right.’ 

“ However,  I am  preaching  too  long  a sermon 
as  a prelude  to  the  bit  of  personal  history  I 
promised  you,  and  which  I intend  to  be  a sort 
of  sermon  in  itself. 

“ Of  course  I really  commenced  the  pursuit  of 
happiness  at  a very  early  age ; but  it  will  serve 
our  present  purpose  if  I introduce  myself  at 
about  your  age,  since  it  would  do  no  good  to 
put  up  guide-boards  at  the  corners  you  have 
already  turned. 

“At  twenty-five  I was  the  usual  boy  of  that 


72 


ADDRESSES. 


age.  I had  not  been  out  of  college  long  enough 
to  realize  how  manifestly  I had  not  completed 
my  education,  and  I had  seen  just  enough  of  the 
world  to  fancy  that  there  was  hardly  a verdant 
leaf  in  all  my  foliage. 

“ I might  then  have  enjoyed  a sort  of  happiness 
in  the  fond  consciousness  of  youth,  health,  and 
ambition,  but  for  the  fact  that  I imagined  myself 
to  be  poor,  and  intuitively  knew  that  I was  a 
bachelor.  So  I resolutely  set  about  the  removal 
of  these  obstacles.  As  the  way  of  trade  was  then 
considered  the  shortest  path  to  wealth,  I found 
employment  in  a mercantile  house  of  some 
prominence;  and  a little  later,  having  then  se- 
cured an  income  sufficient  to  support  about  one 
man  and  a quarter  of  modest  wants,  I met  a lady 
who,  with  the  amiable  propensity  of  her  sex, 
kindly  allowed  me  to  marry  her. 

“ At  thirty,  I had  gained  a business  footing  which 
relieved  me  of  anxiety  as  to  the  means  of  life ; 
and  at  thirty-five,  I had  reached  a point  where  I 
needed  only  a little  philosophy  to  make  me  really 
and  consciously  happy;  for  I had  then  acquired 
an  income  which  enabled  me  to  live  well,  though 
not  extravagantly,  and  to  enjoy  many  things 
which  I had  been  accustomed  to  regard  as  the 
far-off  luxuries  of  life. 

“ I had  the  blessing  of  a good  wife,  and  knew  the 
most  exquisite  of  all  human  joys  in  the  love  of 
children. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  7 3 

“We  had  a respectable  social  position  just  out- 
side the  fashionable  centre,  and  my  work  had  not 
then  dulled  my  spirits  or  drawn  me  away  from 
the  enjoyment  of  friends. 

“ As  I look  back  to  it  now  this  was,  or  should 
have  been,  the  most  delightful  period  of  my 
life.  It  was  a time  of  comfort  without  display, 
plenty  without  satiety,  and  simple  pleasure  with- 
out pretense. 

“ But  the  insidious  passion  of  the  business  world 
had  infected  me:  I was  ambitious  to  become 
rich,  — sensationally  rich. 

“ I had  begun  life  with  the  hope  of  winning 
enough  to  provide  comfort  and  the  leisure  for 
self-culture  and  rational  enjoyment.  But  now 
that  I had  accomplished  this,  I could  not  relin- 
quish the  purpose  of  gain.  The  things  to  which 
at  twenty-five  I had  aspired,  when  reached  at 
thirty-five  seemed  pitifully  mean.  I could  afford 
to  live  freely  in  a single  house,  but  my  neighbor 
in  the  double  house  seemed  to  present  a broader 
front  to  the  world  and  to  fill  the  eye  of  the  pub- 
lic with  a portlier  presence.  I could  then  well 
afford  the  modest  entertainment  of  my  friends, 
and  could  play  the  host  at  a quiet  dinner  with 
genuine  pleasure ; but  I wanted  the  sensation  of 
lavish  hospitality.  I did  not  crave  wealth  for  the 
mere  love  of  possession;  I would  not  slave  for 
gold  merely  to  hoard  it.  And  so  encouraging  my- 
self with  the  thought  that  I needed  more  merely 


74 


ADDRESSES. 


as  a further  means  to  some  higher  end,  I em- 
barked in  new  and  absorbing  enterprises,  and  after 
a long  period  of  wearing  toil,  of  anxious  days  and 
restless  nights,  of  mental  and  spiritual  starvation, 
I found  myself  at  fifty  a miserable  millionaire.” 

Here  my  uncle  paused  for  a moment,  and  I ven- 
tured to  inquire  at  what  point  in  the  millions  he 
thought  the  average  millionaire  would  logically  be 
driven  to  suicide  as  an  escape  from  his  money. 

“ I suppose,”  said  he,  “ you  mean  to  suggest 
that  because  the  wealth  I have  amassed  brought 
me  disappointment  it  should  by  further  increase 
render  life  intolerable.  You  are  hardly  right.  I 
suffered  not  by  the  mere  possession,  but  by  the 
process  of  acquisition ; and  I am  disposed  to 
think  that  a man  may  find  about  as  much  dis- 
appointment in  one  million  as  in  ten,  if  he  knows 
how  to  go  about  it  — as  I did. 

“ What  was  my  system?  Well,  I ’ll  tell  you. 

“In  the  first  place,  I gave  myself  early  in  life 
to  a fatal  error.  I overestimated  the  power  of 
wealth  to  confer  happiness. 

“ I saw  about  me  on  every  hand  men  and  women 
who  lived  in  apparent  luxury  — who  were  cer- 
tainly free  from  the  sordid  cares  which  beset  me 
— and  I said  to  myself,  4 These  people  are  happy. 
They  rejoice  in  elegant  leisure,  in  the  oppor- 
tunity for  charity,  in  the  indulgence  of  refined 
tastes,  in  the  consciousness  of  conspicuous  posi- 
tion and  social  influence;’  and  I foolishly  com- 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  75 


pared  their  lot  with  mine,  and  explained  all 
differences  by  the  disparity  in  fortune : and  so 
I set  out  upon  a weary  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine 
of  my  false  faith,  only  to  reach  it  at  last  footsore 
and  disenchanted. 

“ I had  youth,  health,  and  ambition ; and  with 
these  what  glorious  possibilities  in  my  unspent 
years  of  life ! but  I sold  them  for  a million,  and 
the  sorry  consolation  that  the  world  would  not 
perceive  how  badly  I was  cheated. 

“ The  alchemy  that  would  transmute  base  metals 
into  gold  was  the  wild  dream  of  another  age ; but 
we  have  found  an  alchemy  that  fuses  into  current 
coin  the  best  elements  of  life,  — the  music,  poetry, 
and  passion  that  are  the  inheritance  of  youth 
from  untold  centuries  of  human  aspiration  and 
achievement. 

“I  well  remember  the  day  — my  fiftieth  birth- 
day— when  I made  the  inventory  which  first 
assured  me  of  the  coveted  sum,  and  how  I 
showed  it  to  my  good  wife,  and  how  she  said, 
‘Yes,  John,  it  seems  a great  deal;  but  somehow 
I don’t  feel  as  rich  as  I did  the  day  you  bought 
the  pony  for  the  boys.’ 

“ Strange  — was  n’t  it  — that  after  years  of  her 
own  carriage  and  ample  purse  she  should  recall 
the  poor  little  pony,  bought  long  ago  with  the 
savings  of  a modest  income?  But,  stranger  still, 
I could  not  banish  it  from  my  thoughts. 

“ I lay  awake  that  night,  reviewing  the  career  of 


76 


A DDRESSES. 


a lifetime,  summing  up  its  gains  and  losses ; and 
in  the  morning  I arose  confessedly  a poor  man. 

“ With  a million  of  money  I could  buy  nothing 
but  sustenance  for  a nature  shrunken  by  neglect. 

“ I had  gained  nothing  that  a fool  with  inherited 
money  might  not  buy,  nothing  that  the  reverses 
of  a year  or  two  might  not  sweep  away,  leaving 
me  poor  indeed ; and  I was  a slave  to  care  and 
anxiety. 

“ Of  the  real  treasures  of  the  world  — its  art, 
literature,  culture,  philanthropy  — I had  won  no 
share;  they  had  enriched  others  while  I had 
been  trading  myself  piecemeal  for  needless  gold. 
True,  I had  upon  my  walls  admired  paintings; 
but  I was  conscious  that  I regarded  them,  like 
the  frieze  or  dado,  merely  as  proper  details  of 
house  decoration. 

“ I had  a library  suitable  to  my  house ; but  so 
far  as  my  intellectual  needs  were  concerned,  it 
might  as  well  have  been  stored  in  my  warehouse. 

“ I gave  the  conventional  patronage  to  opera 
and  oratorio,  but  listened  to  the  music  in  a dull, 
unprofitable  way,  hardly  knowing  the  difference 
between  an  overture  and  a fugue. 

“ In  short,  I found  that  for  all  the  pleasures  of 
life  that  come  to  eye  and  ear,  to  heart  and  mind, 
all  zest  had  gone  with  wasted  opportunities,  and 
that  for  all  that  money  could  furnish  such  a man 
I had  learned  indifference. 

“ There  had  been  a time  when  to  ride  in  a 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  77 

carriage  was  esteemed  a luxury,  and  when  a 
good  dinner  with  a friend  was  just  rare  enough 
to  be  remembered  as  a special  event;  but  now, 
my  carriage  being  a matter  of  course,  I took  it 
when  the  horse-cars  would  not  answer  my  pur- 
pose, and  with  as  little  thought  of  congratulat- 
ing myself  upon  it  as  a luxury  as  I would  have 
given  to  my  shoes ; and  as  to  good  dinners  with 
my  friends,  they  had  become  duller  than  a bank 
directors’  meeting.” 

Here,  as  my  uncle  paused,  I remarked  that  he 
had  at  least  acquired  the  power  to  advance  others, 
and  perhaps  gain  happiness  by  conferring  it. 

“ Yes,”  he  replied,  “ to  some  extent;  but  the 
trouble  is  that  as  a rule  the  habits  of  life  acquired 
in  the  long  process  of  accumulating  a fortune 
unfit  the  possessor  for  philanthropic  work. 

“ He  has  no  enthusiasms,  no  such  love  for 
any  cause  that  to  give  to  it  would  be  a special 
pleasure;  and  so  he  gives,  if  at  all,  as  a conces- 
sion to  public  opinion  — as  a sort  of  penance  for 
being  rich  — and  under  a secret  protest.  In 
such  giving  there  is  about  as  much  happiness  as 
in  being  robbed  on  the  highway. 

“ Or  such  a man  gives  lavishly  for  display,  to 
hear  the  music  of  his  name  upon  the  tongues 
of  men,  and  with  about  the  same  high  grade 
of  happiness  with  which  he  pays  his  advertising 
bills. 

“ Still,  there  is  much  that  a rich  man  may  do 


73 


ADDRESSES. 


with  his  money  beyond  the  supply  of  his  own 
wants,  of  a character  to  react  in  happiness ; and 
I believe  that  I should  have  sought  this  relief, 
but  for  an  accident,  the  great  fire  which  you 
doubtless  remember,  which  suddenly  reduced 
me  from  wealth  to  the  modest  fortune  I now 
possess. 

“ I made  no  effort  to  recover  my  losses,  but 
withdrew  from  active  business,  content  with 
enough  remaining  to  afford  me  reasonable  com- 
fort and  freedom  from  care,  and  then  devoted 
myself  to  a new  departure  in  the  pursuit  of  hap- 
piness ; and  the  fact  that  my  life,  emerging  from 
bondage  at  fifty,  has  reached  a fuller,  heartier 
happiness  at  sixty  than  it  ever  knew  in  youth 
or  prime,  may  justify  me  in  affecting  to  teach 
you  something  of  what  I call  my  philosophy. 

“ Now  you  are  starting  out  for  the  common 
goal;  and  I charge  you  if  you  seek  happiness, 
and  of  a kind  that  never  yet  imperilled  an  im- 
mortal soul,  lay  up  for  yourself  treasures  in  this 
world,  — but  not  of  the  kind  that  moth  and  rust 
can  corrupt  or  thieves  steal. 

“ Pray  not  for  the  gift  of  Midas.  Remember  the 
hungry  fool  reaching  out  for  food  and  clutching 
a golden  mockery,  the  starving  wretch  fleeing 
on  golden  footprints  to  the  waters  of  Pactolus 
to  wash  away  the  curse  of  his  magic  touch. 

“ He  is  pitifully  poor,  though  he  count  millions, 
who  cannot  buy  for  his  heart  the  throb  of  human 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE . 79 


sympathy,  or  purchase  for  his  age  the  solace  of 
respect.  To  the  world  he  may  seem  to  be  the 
favorite  of  fortune:  but  hear  what  old  Izaak 
Walton  says: 

“ ‘ As  God  knows,  the  cares  that  are  the  keys  that  keep 
those  riches  hang  often  so  heavily  at  the  rich  man’s 
girdle  that  they  dog  him  with  weary  days  and  restless 
nights,  even  when  others  sleep  quietly. 

“ 1 We  see  but  the  outside  of  the  rich  man’s  happiness ; 
few  consider  him  to  be  like  the  silkworm,  that  when  she 
seems  to  play,  is  at  the  very  same  time  spinning  her 
own  bowels  and  consuming  herself.’ 

“ Jonesby  is  called  rich  because  he  has  three  mil- 
lions invested  in  railroads,  but  he  has  also  invested 
himself  in  railroads. 

“ He  belongs  to  stockholders  who  are  dividing 
him  up  in  dividends. 

“ Our  friend  Smithsby  has  a million  or  two 
snugly  secured,  and  devotes  his  penurious  mind 
to  keeping  down  his  expenses.  Poor  old  soul ! Pie 
is  in  love  with  his  ungrateful  gold,  that  will  not 
serve  him,  but  works  only  for  its  own  increase. 
He  is  but  the  ill-fed  watch-dog  of  his  own  treasury, 
and  he  lives  for  a dog’s  reward. 

“ But  to  resume  the  strain  of  advice : I hope 
that  you  will  not  be  led  by  the  course  of  others 
to  think  too  highly  of  money  for  its  own  sake, 
or  for  the  pleasures  and  benefits  which  it  may 
seem  to  confer. 


8o 


ADDRESSES. 


“As  society  is  constituted,  every  man  is  expected 
to  be  self-supporting,  and  should  seek  to  gain  the 
means  of  a comfortable  life, — not  necessarily  the 
means  to  live  without  labor, — for  to  most  men 
capable  of  what  I call  intelligent  happiness,  work 
of  some  sort  is  desirable, — but  to  escape  the 
necessity  of  constant  and  distasteful  drudgery. 

“ This  is  perhaps  the  first  rational  step  towards 
happiness,  since  of  course  to  the  average  man  of 
our  society  the  contentment  of  insensate  poverty 
or  mere  careless  vagabondage  is  impossible ; but 
the  time  and  thought  given  to  the  accumulation 
of  a surplus  are  generally  misspent. 

“ The  man  of  moderate  means  and  the  philoso- 
phy to  find  them  sufficient  for  his  reasonable 
uses,  is  richer  than  a Vanderbilt  with  all  his  mil- 
lions and  his  greed  for  more. 

“ Every  person  has  a certain  natural  range  of 
wants.  His  appetite  demands  a certain  kind  and 
quantity  of  food ; his  mind  requires  to  be  nourished 
according  to  its  quality  and  training ; his  social 
nature  must  have  its  congenial  atmosphere,  and 
his  impulses  their  opportunity  for  action ; and  so 
it  seems  to  me  that  just  as  there  is  a proper  house 
for  every  man,  according  to  his  tastes,  the  size  of 
his  family,  and  the  number  of  his  welcome  guests, 
so  there  is  a fortune  appropriate  for  every  man ; 
and  by  this  I mean  that  fortune  which  he  can  use 
with  advantage  to  himself  and  those  dependent 
upon  him  in  supplying  their  proper  wants,  in 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  8 1 


promoting  rational  pleasures,  and  in  judicious 
charities, — in  a word,  just  so  much  as  he  can  enjoy 
in  the  use  and  not  in  the  mere  possession. 

“ All  beyond  this,  that  is  gained  at  the  expense 
of  time  and  energy,  costs  too  much;  for  a man’s 
time  is  all  there  is  of  him  in  this  world,  and  he 
can  ill  afford  to  spend  himself  for  the  mere 
possession  of  anything  he  does  not  need. 

“ It  is  with  money  as  with  life : he  alone  holds 
it  worthily  who  can  upon  occasion  regard  it  with 
indifference. 

“ Of  course  mere  riches  may  gain  the  possessor 
the  envy  and  homage  of  a certain  class ; but  the 
rich  man,  unless  he  be  a simple  fellow  rich  by 
accident,  instead  of  deriving  pleasure  from  this 
source,  is  humiliated  by  the  thought  that  the  same 
tribute  would  follow  his  money  into  the  hands  of 
any  fool. 

“ Why,  sometimes,  when  I had  the  million  of 
which  I told  you,  a young  man  would  rise  and 
press  me  to  take  his  seat  in  a car  when  a feeble 
woman  was  standing  before  him. 

“ Can  you  imagine  that  I found  anything  but 
pain  and  shame  in  such  a deference  as  that? 

“ And  often  during  that  period  I received  in- 
vitations from  the  fastidious  De  Browns  or  the 
exclusive  Smythes,  telling  me  in  conventional 
phrase,  leaving  a little  to  be  understood,  that  they 
desired  the  presence  of  a millionaire  in  my  per- 
son at  a dinner  or  musical  reception ; and  of  course 

6 


82 


ADDRESSES. 


I regarded  the  compliment  as  something  less  than 
that  they  paid  the  hired  musicians,  since  they 
were  bidden  for  their  skill  and  accomplishments, 
and  I for  nothing  meritorious.” 

My  uncle  paused  here,  and  thinking  the  occa- 
sion opportune  to  turn  him  to  a lighter  strain,  I 
pushed  the  decanter  toward  him,  and  said : — 

“ I confess  that  you  have  about  persuaded  me 
not  to  amass  many  millions  more  than  I suppose 
I need,  and  not  to  work  immoderately  in  getting 
the  little  fortune  that  shall  fit  me,  as  you  put 
it;  but  what  more  shall  I do  — or  not  do  — to  be 
happy? 

“ You  say  that  in  your  unhappy  days  of  wealth 
you  were  offered  the  advantages  of  fashionable 
society.  Now  suppose  that  this  society,  over- 
looking my  philosophical  poverty,  should  open 
its  doors  to  me:  shall  I enter?” 

“ Ah ! ” said  my  uncle,  “ I perceive  that  you 
have  heard  enough  of  the  evils  of  money-getting; 
but  before  we  quit  the  subject,  let  us  sum  it  up 
after  the  fashion  of  old  Time  himself — don’t  you 
remember  the  lines : — 

“ ‘ Quoth  I,  “ Here ’s  Christmas  come  again, 

And  I no  farthing  richer  ! ” 

Time  answered,  “ Ah  ! the  old,  old  strain ! 

I prithee  pass  the  pitcher; 

Why  measure  all  your  good  in  gold  ? 

No  rope  of  sand  is  weaker ; 

’T  is  hard  to  get,  — ’t  is  hard  to  hold ; 

Come,  lad,  fill  up  your  beaker I ” ’ ” 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE . 83 

And  after  suiting  the  action  to  the  quoted 
word,  my  uncle  looked  at  me  with  a quizzical 
smile,  and  said  : — 

“As  to  fashionable  society  — well,  perhaps  you 
may  as  well  try  it,  just  for  the  experience. 

“ Most  men  like  meat  better  after  trying  to  eat 
feathers.  But  just  examine  yourself  first;  or,  if 
you  ’re  not  good  at  diagnosis,  get  some  old  fellow 
like  me  to  do  it  for  you,  — and  find  out  what 
manner  of  man  you  are  for  such  experiments ; and 
if  you  find  that  your  pulse  is  steady  at  something 
under  seventy ; that  your  vanity  is  broken  to  bit 
and  rein ; that  your  heart  is  domestic  enough  to 
decline  excursion  tickets  from  strangers;  and,  in 
short,  that  you  have  common  sense  enough  to 
avoid  making  a fool  of  yourself  under  strong 
temptations,  then,  I would  say  to  you,  go  into 
fashionable  society.  Society,  in  its  broad  sense, 
is  the  common  school  of  the  race,  fashionable 
society  the  dancing-school. 

“ Perhaps  you  may  as  well  learn  to  waltz,  if 
you  are  sure  you  can  do  so  without  forgetting 
how  to  walk. 

“ In  this  school  you  will  be  taught  that  policy 
is  the  best  honesty ; but  don’t  stake  your  whole 
future  on  that  proposition  until  you  have  tested 
it ; and  you  will  learn  that  fat  brains  and  brutish 
instincts  are  excusable  defects  in  a man  who  has 
distinguished  himself  by  inheriting  a fortune; 
but  don’t  act  upon  that  doctrine  in  choosing 
friends  or  models. 


34 


ADDRESSES. 


“ And  you  may  sometimes  find  a firefly  passing 
for  a meteor,  but  don’t  conclude  at  once  that 
every  glowworm  is  a star. 

“You  will  perhaps  see  a man  six  feet  long  and 
bearded,  with  his  brilliant  intellect  focused  upon 
his  scarf,  his  keen  introspection  arrested  by  his 
under-clothing ; or  notice  the  antics  of  some  vet- 
eran beau,  who,  as  Lord  Chesterfield  once  said  of 
himself,  has  been  dead  for  years,  but  does  not 
wish  it  to  be  known ; or  you  may  observe  how 
cleverly  one  woman  stabs  a dozen  with  a new 
dress ; or  watch  a cage  of  pretty  parrots,  and  see 
them  flutter  in  consternation  when  some  wilful 
bird  that  will  not  learn  the  parrot  phrases  spreads 
her  impatient  wings  and  sounds  the  note  of  the 
free  forest;  but  such  observations  will  hardly 
afford  you  more  than  amusement. 

“ Still,  you  will  find  people  intent  upon  the  same 
purpose  as  yourself,  — the  attainment  of  happi- 
ness, — and  if  you  wear  your  eyes  open,  you  may 
profit  by  their  errors. 

“You  will  see  especially  the  folly  of  pretense. 

“ Let  me  illustrate  this  by  a woman’s  case,  — 
not  that  women  are  more  dishonest  than  men,  but 
because  the  conditions  of  their  life  and  social 
status  expose  them  to  more  insidious  temptations, 
and  render  more  conspicuous  the  consequences  of 
this  error. 

“ She  craves  admiration  — in  itself  a legitimate 
element  of  happiness. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  85 


“ She  finds  that  homage  is  paid  to  beauty,  and 
so  she  attempts  by  fraud  to  simulate  a beauty  she 
has  not.  She  buys  with  false  coin,  and  she  can- 
not wholly  enjoy  her  purchase : she  fears  detec- 
tion, and  this  fear  stimulates  her  to  an  anxious 
effort  that  precludes  happiness.” 

Here  I interrupted  my  uncle,  — for  I could  not 
tamely  listen  to  such  a criticism  of  the  better  sex, 
— and  said  : — 

“ Do  you  really  mean  to  say  that  in  such  things 
women  are  dishonest,  and  by  these  trifling  decep- 
tions they  work  out  their  own  unhappiness?  Is 
not  beauty  admirable  and  the  love  of  admiration 
seemly  in  a woman  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! ” replied  my  uncle,  “ I see  that  your  gal- 
lantry is  challenged,  and  you  must  champion  your 
fair  divinities ; but  you  take  me  too  seriously. 

“ I do  not  mean  that  the  lady  who  gilds  her 
tresses  of  copper  and  passes  them  for  gold  com- 
mits a crime,  or  that  she  will  inevitably  suffer  the 
pangs  of  remorse  for  such  an  act ; but  I say  the 
motive  is  dishonest,  and  the  end  will  be  disap- 
pointment. 

“ In  the  social  market  where  she  buys  there  is 
no  law  against  such  things,  and  moreover  she  is 
encouraged  and  assured  by  the  frequency  and 
apparent  success  of  similar  enterprises  on  every 
side. 

“ By  some  undiscussable  law  of  her  nature,  such 
a woman  must  be  noticed  by  men,  or  she  perishes ; 


86 


ADDRESSES. 


and  if  she  be  not  wholly  blind,  she  readily  per- 
ceives that  the  average  man  sees  quicker  with  his 
eye  than  with  his  mind,  and  is  not  fastidious  in 
the  indulgence  of  his  senses. 

“ He  languidly  admits  the  excellence  of  some 
plain  woman  with  working  brain  and  sterling 
character,  but  devotes  himself  to  some  girl  with 
shaded  eyes  and  tinted  cheeks. 

“You  may  say  that  he  invites  the  fraud,  and 
deserves  to  be  deceived.  True;  if  we  assume 
that  he  is  deceived  we  shall  waste  no  sympathy 
on  him. 

“But  the  mischief  is  not  to  him  — at  least  not 
directly.  The  woman  practises  her  art,  not  with 
the  almost  laudable  design  to  deceive  men  who 
court  deception,  but  for  the  purpose  of  attracting 
admiration  by  false  pretenses ; and  almost  before 
she  realizes  her  ephemeral  success  she  feels  some 
pang  that  robs  her  of  the  coveted  satisfaction. 
She  has  given  herself  to  a lie,  and  she  must  share 
its  fate.  She  has  given  it  currency,  and  the  world 
honors  it  with  a smile  that  implies  no  censure ; 
but  she  is  not  content,  for  she  cannot  be  sure 
that  the  smile  is  not  a cheat  too ; or  perhaps  she 
is  painfully  shocked  at  some  more  glaring  fraud 
which  under  her  very  eyes  has  achieved  a more 
conspicuous  success. 

“ But  by  all  means,  my  boy,  go  into  fashionable 
society. 

“Voltaire  says  that  illusion  is  the  first  of  all 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  87 


pleasures ; and  here  you  may  find  the  beginning 
of  happiness. 

“ However,  you  need  not  believe  implicitly  in  all 
appearances. 

“For  example,  Mrs.  Smithby,  who  brought  from 
the  finishing  school  the  paper  pattern  of  an  edu- 
cation, and  loves  art  well  enough  to  enjoy  a plate 
of  her  favorite  fruit  in  a chromo,  meets  Mrs. 
Jonesby,  who  is  really  a model  housekeeper,  some- 
what debilitated  by  the  epidemic  aestheticism  in 
her  system. 

“With  a gentle  sorrow  just  tinged  by  the  bit- 
terness of  unforgiving  censure,  Mrs.  Smithby 
deplores  the  meretricious  tendency  of  modern 
art;  while  Mrs.  Jonesby,  who  has  lately  knelt 
at  the  feet  of  an  apostle  in  hair  and  knee- 
breeches,  mourns  over  the  fearful  responsibility 
of  a trustee  for  beauty,  and  laments  the  degrada- 
tion of  a race  that  will  not  dress  in  symphonies. 

“ But,  my  boy,  don’t  let  such  evidence  of  grief 
sadden  your  young  life.  Time  will  assuage  such 
sorrows,  and  these  fair  sufferers  will  yet  find 
something  to  live  for,  — perhaps  art,  or  church, 
or  children,  but  probably  fashionable  society. 

“ For  such  stricken  ones,  as  for  the  soft-eyed 
young  widow  who  begins  to  take  notice,  you 
may  safely  trust  to  a relenting  fate,  for  I believe 
that  even  Fate  might  be  cajoled  by  one  of  these, 
who  sigh  with  such  discretion  and  weep  so 
apropos.” 


88 


ADDRESSES. 


“ Really,”  exclaimed  I,  with  some  heat,  “do 
you  mean  to  condemn  these  modish  little  fic- 
tions? Is  it  not  better  for  such  people  to  talk 
up  than  down?  Would  you  have  a lady  for 
honesty’s  sake  parade  her  love  of  cabbages  in 
a society  that  is  lily-mad  ? ” 

“Well,”  said  he,  “I  think  that  in  the  pur- 
suit of  happiness  she  will  gain  more  by  eating 
cabbages  with  a relish  than  by  taking  lilies  as  a 
prescription. 

“ But  I repeat,  probably  society  of  this  kind 
won’t  hurt  you,  and  may  teach  you  lessons  worth 
learning. 

“You  are,  I perceive,  already  conscious  of 
women  in  the  world ; and  so,  having  nodded  to 
your  destiny,  you  may  as  well  offer  your  arm  and 
go  the  way  of  all  men,  even  though  it  lead  you 
into  that  carnival  of  women  we  call  the  circle 
of  fashion. 

“ What  a masquerade  it  seems  to  an  old  man  in 
the  gallery  ! And  yet  I confess  to  you  that  when 
I was  a boy  of  your  age  and  down  among  the 
maskers  I thought  it  all  real  life,  and  took  the 
fellow  in  armor  for  a knight,  and  the  creature 
with  a wand  for  a true  queen  of  fairies ; and  you 
may  do  the  same,  and  perhaps  be  none  the  worse 
for  it,  if  you  don’t  die  young;  for  you  will  find 
food  for  thought,  and  may  be  wise  enough  to  stop 
sometimes  to  think. 

“ But  if  you  are  led  to  wonder  whether  devo- 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  89 

tion  to  such  a life  brings  true  happiness,  mark  its 
devotees. 

“ Take,  for  instance,  a young  girl,  the  unfortu- 
nate child  of  some  worldly,  ambitious  woman,  who 
has  reached  the  position  of  a leader  in  society. 

“The  daughter,  of  course,  is  destined  to  the 
same  life,  and  must  come  to  it  prepared.  Follow 
her  through  the  course  of  artificial  training  begun 
in  the  nursery  and  continued  in  the  fashionable 
boarding-school. 

“ Observe  how  carefully  the  natural  impulses  of 
youth  are  warped  into  the  cool  artfulness  of  the 
tutored  miss;  how  readily  the  development  of 
her  understanding  is  postponed  to  the  training 
of  her  voice  and  step ; how  wickedly  the  culture 
of  her  heart  is  sacrificed  to  the  acquisition  of 
stated  accomplishments  and  selected  affectations, 
until,  out  of  the  grand  possibilities  of  girlhood, 
she  comes  to  society  distorted  and  made  over, 
robbed  of  the  strength  and  sweetness  that  God 
gave  her  for  her  woman’s  portion,  and  equipped 
instead  with  the  ready  artifice,  the  social  maxims, 
the  ravenous  vanity,  and  mercenary  purpose  of 
the  fashionable  debutante. 

“ If  we  trace  her  further,  we  shall  see  how  faith- 
fully she  worships  at  the  shrine  of  fashion,  and 
how  blindly  she  follows  the  decrees  of  that  wanton 
goddess  in  dress,  habits,  sentiment,  and  even  re- 
ligion ; for  that  is  often  scarce  deeper  than  her 
complexion,  and  may  be  shaded  as  easily  to  suit 
the  mode. 


90 


ADDRESSES. 


“ Her  beauty,  grace,  accomplishments,  and  po- 
sition,— these  are  her  capital  for  speculation,  and 
she  places  it  in  the  social  mart  with  all  the 
shrewdness  of  a practical  financier;  and  after  a 
few  seasons  of  physical,  mental,  and  spiritual  dis- 
sipation, she  bestows  on  some  deluded  man  the 
empty  chrysalis  of  her  affections  which  they 
agree  to  call  a heart,  and  gives  herself  to  slow 
starvation  over  the  garnished  mess  of  pottage  for 
which  she  has  bartered  her  birthright  of  true 
womanhood. 

“ And,  my  boy,  she  will  smile  like  a seraph  to 
the  end ; but  don’t  imagine  that  the  smile  beto- 
kens happiness.  It  is  said  that  in  Sardinia  grows 
a poisonous  plant  which,  if  eaten  by  man,  con- 
vulses the  features  into  a horrible  expression  of 
mirth,  and  the  tortured  victim  slowly  dies  with 
the  sardonic  smile  upon  his  face.  And  so,  I 
fancy,  we  sometimes  read  in  the  set  smile  of  fash- 
ion the  story  of  a poisoned  and  wasting  life. 

“ But,  you  will  say,  there  must  be  some  scope 
for  happiness  in  such  a life,  or  men  and  women 
would  not  continue  in  it.  That  does  not  follow. 
There  are  errors  as  old  as  mankind  and  apparent 
as  the  sun,  which  will  always  continue  to  ensnare 
the  majority. 

“ Anger,  hatred,  and  malice  are  patent  ways  to 
vain  regret,  and  yet  the  multitude  will  not  forsake 
them. 

“ Of  course,  I am  not  condemning  the  social  life 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  9 1 

of  our  people,  so  far  as  it  fosters  a natural  sympa- 
thy and  teaches  the  amenities  of  life,  for  to  that 
extent  it  is  beneficent;  but  I am  warning  you 
against  any  serious  devotion  to  that  phase  of  so- 
ciety which  is  due  to  idleness,  vanity,  and  surplus 
wealth,  and  in  which  too  often  a clever  affectation 
passes  for  culture. 

“ It  is  a game  of  counterfeits,  and  the  winnings 
are  mainly  spurious.  In  business  life  a man  who 
gains  credit  by  false  representations  is  punished 
as  a swindler.  In  society  a man  who  gets  posi- 
tion by  false  pretenses  is  often  justified  by  suc- 
cess ; but  then,  if  society  were  conducted  upon 
business  principles,  it  would  become  a court  of 
bankruptcy.” 

Here  I again  interrupted  my  uncle,  and  in- 
quired, with  some  asperity,  perhaps,  why  he  had 
chosen  so  often  to  illustrate  the  foibles  of  society 
by  feminine  examples. 

“ Because,”  said  he,  “ in  that  direction  the  evil 
is  the  more  apparent  and  mischievous.  Did  any 
man  ever  frame  his  picture  of  earthly  happiness 
without  a woman’s  face  in  it?  Is  there  anything 
in  life  so  dear  to  man  as  the  undefiled  purity  of 
woman,  or  so  lovely  as  her  natural  grace  and 
beauty? 

“The  things  that  degrade  a man’s  ideals  im- 
poverish the  man,  and  hence  I say  that  these 
social  errors  are  the  concern  of  man,  and  fair 
targets  for  his  satire. 


92 


ADDRESSES. 


“ The  sins  of  men  are  of  the  grosser  sort,  and 
palpable  enough  for  the  grasp  of  law ; but  those 
of  women  come  in  such  questionable  shapes  that 
we  hesitate  to  give  them  name  and  character. 

“ Suppose  it  were  possible  that  a fashionable 
lady,  though  somewhat  dim  in  her  theology, 
should  have  a clear  conception  of  a stylish  re- 
ligion. She  would  be  concerned  not  so  much 
about  what  she  worshipped  as  what  she  wor- 
shipped in>  and  would  probably  limit  her  creed 
to  the  belief  in  a personal  clergyman. 

“ Of  course  in  view  of  your  threatening  de- 
meanor I don’t  suggest  that  there  is  really  such 
a case  to  be  found ; but  if  there  were,  society 
would  doubtless  let  it  pass  for  piety,  and  hardly 
hint  at  profanation. 

“ Therefore  because  of  the  tendencies  which  ap- 
pear in  fashionable  society  — the  society  that 
asserts  itself  and  affects  to  set  up  standards  other 
than  worth  and  true  culture  — I say  to  you,  en- 
joy it  as  you  would  a play.  Go  where  you 
please  for  study  or  recreation,  but  don’t  get 
stage-struck.  Take  the  stimulant  if  you  need, 
but  beware  of  the  chronic  thirst,  or  you  are 
lost.” 

Then  I reminded  my  uncle  that  he  had  only 
told  of  the  things  which  in  his  life  of  wealth  he 
had  found  unproductive  of  happiness ; and  that  I 
should  be  glad  to  know  by  what  steps  he  had 
escaped  from  the  error  of  his  ways  and  reached 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  93 

the  position  of  a consciously  happy  man ; and  he 
replied : — 

“ In  the  first  place,  let  me  disclaim  perfect 
felicity:  no  sane  or  sober  man  possesses  it.  I 
am  simply  contented,  and  I actively  enjoy  life; 
and  as  to  the  process  — why,  you  have  much  of 
it  already  by  inference,  and  the  rest  I can  give 
you  in  few  words. 

“ At  fifty  I realized  that  I had  sadly  neglected 
my  power  of  rational  enjoyment,  and,  upon  the 
theory  that  one  is  never  too  old  to  learn,  I began 
to  educate  myself  for  what  you  may  perhaps  call 
a selfish  life.  True,  it  is  selfish ; but  so  are  many 
of  our  best  deeds.  Indeed,  I have  sometimes 
thought  there  is  much  truth  in  La  Rochefoucauld’s 
maxim  that  ‘ Our  virtues  are  frequently  but 
vices ; ’ and  perhaps  the  converse  is  sometimes 
true.  At  all  events,  we  may  admit  that  for  men 
who  lack  the  learning  and  genius  to  confer 
direct  benefits  upon  mankind,  the  highest  form  of 
selfishness,  which  consists  in  the  development  of 
the  best  self,  is  a beneficent  virtue. 

“ My  method  was  simple  and  direct.  Forex- 
ample,  a comet  appeared  in  the  heavens,  and  I 
conceived  the  idea  that  a man  of  general  intel- 
ligence and  leisure  for  study  might  as  well  know 
something  about  comets.  So  I bought  an  as- 
tronomy and  renewed  my  youthful  studies,  and, 
I am  proud  to  say,  became  interested,  and  learned 
to  find  new  pleasures  in  the  stars  that  I had 


94 


ADDRESSES. 


gazed  upon  for  half  a century.  I invited  artists 
to  my  house  and  got  them  to  talk  to  me  of  art 
and  teach  me  something  of  their  methods,  not 
that  I might  make  pretense  of  art-culture,  but 
simply  to  enhance  to  me  the  value  of  my  crude 
love  for  form  and  color ; and  I learned  to  enjoy 
the  pictures  on  my  walls  and  in  the  galleries  not 
merely  by  vague  impression,  but,  measurably, 
for  their  merits  and  their  evidence  of  artistic  skill. 

“ I was  unwilling  that  the  stream  of  literature 
should  flow  through  all  the  world  and  not  con- 
tribute to  my  cup  of  life,  and  so  I have  learned 
to  find  pleasure  in  thoughts  which  I had  long  put 
aside  as  unworthy  of  a mind  dedicated  to  com- 
merce ; and  I have  found  friends  in  men  whom 
formerly  I had  regarded  as  useless  members  of 
society,  — some  of  them  queer  fellows,  you  would 
say,  but  each  with  a fund  of  knowledge,  a vein  of 
delicious  humor,  or  a store  of  rare  conceits,  that 
amply  repays  me  for  the  trouble  of  discovery.  I 
have  even  reached  that  high  degree  of  philosophy 
which  enabled  me  to  go  a-fishing  without  feel- 
ing that  I thereby  lost  time  or  dignity.  And 
then  to  such  griefs  as  came  to  me,  I gave  no  wel- 
come, but  sought  to  be  rid  of  them  as  quickly  as 
possible,  attacking  them  with  all  fair  weapons, 
just  as  I would  fight  a headache  with  fresh  air  or  a 
dose  of  medicine.  Except  the  fear  of  death  there 
is  nothing  in  life  so  unphilosophical  as  mourn- 
ing forced  by  a sense  of  duty  or  prolonged  by  a 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A MILLIONAIRE.  95 

social  custom.  In  a word,  after  a life  devoted  to 
the  accumulation  of  a fortune  and  to  the  con- 
ventional forms  of  recreation,  I found  that  the 
best  pleasures  and  the  worthiest  satisfaction  pos- 
sible to  my  nature  were  of  a kind  that  money 
could  not  buy,  or  even  promote,  except  so  far 
as  it  furnished  relief  from  drudgery  and  sordid 
cares;  and  my  chief  regret  as  I draw  near  the 
end  of  life  is,  that  I have  spent  its  best  years  in 
the  worship  of  false  gods. 

“ But  I have  wearied  you  with  my  rambling 
monologue.  Let  me  epitomize  part  of  our  table 
talk  to-night  in  a little  fable. 

“ A man  lived  in  a beautiful  garden,  but  he 
knew  not  of  the  fruit  and  flowers,  for  all  the  day 
long  he  digged  in  the  earth  for  gold,  and  the 
bee  and  the  bird  and  the  passer-by  gathered  the 
riches  of  the  garden ; and  when  his  day  was  done 
he  had  digged  a pit  deep  enough  for  a grave  and 
the  gold  he  had  found  was  enough  to  bury  him.” 

Here  my  Aunt  Jane  entered  the  room  to  see  if 
my  uncle  was  smoking  more  than  one  cigar  after 
his  dinner,  and  during  the  explanation  which  en- 
sued I withdrew,  musing  over  my  uncle’s  queer 
fancies  and  repeating  to  myself  the  old  familiar 
lines,  — 

“ O happiness,  how  far  we  flee 
Thine  own  sweet  paths  in  search  of  thee ! ” 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL. 


Read  before  the  Chicago  Literary  Club  on 
January  31,  1887. 

O character  in  history  or  fiction  has  been  so 


1 M universally  execrated  as  the  devil.  He  is 
nearly  as  old  as  man,  and  throughout  his  long 
career  he  has  been  regarded  by  most  of  our  race 
as  vastly  their  inferior  in  point  of  morality.  Only 
the  most  humbly  pious  of  men  — those  who  have 
found  ecstasy  in  magnifying  their  worm-hood  and 
sought  perfection  by  exaggerating  their  deformi- 
ties — have  admitted  his  superiority ; and  even 
these  have  assumed  that  in  this  very  self-abase- 
ment was  a virtue  which  must  ultimately  put  him 
beneath  their  feet.  Wherever  man  has  dwelt,  the 
devil  has  been  known  and  feared.  We  believe 
there  is  no  race  of  people  known  to  history  which 
has  not  acknowledged  him  in  some  shape  or  guise, 
either  as  a single  spirit  or  a band  of  spirits,  an 
emanation  from  air  or  earth  or  water,  a wind,  a 
river,  an  animal,  a bird,  a man-like  personality  or 
an  indescribable  monster,  but  always  as  a super- 
natural being  or  power  intent  upon  evil,  and  the 
inveterate  foe  of  man.  How  long,  or  in  what 
various  forms,  he  was  known  during  that  prehis- 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  97 

toric  period  whose  countless  ages  we  scarcely 
estimate,  is  of  course  conjectural ; but  doubtless  at 
whatever  time  after  creation,  or  at  whatever  stage 
of  evolution,  man  first  learned  to  distinguish  good 
and  evil  and  to  speculate  upon  the  sources  of  things 
deemed  good  or  evil,  some  malevolent  being  was 
imagined  as  the  instigator  of  sin  and  the  author 
of  all  calamities,  and  by  some  name  unknown  to 
us  became  the  devil  of  that  age  and  people. 

It  is  not,  however,  the  purpose  of  this  paper  to 
trace  the  devil-idea  through  its  earliest  history; 
and  so  with  this  brief  allusion  to  its  antiquity  we 
pass  at  once  to  the  consideration  of  its  latest  per- 
sonification in  our  devil,  — the  personal,  scrip- 
tural devil  of  Christendom, — and  propose  to 
sketch  his  rise  and  fall. 

If  in  doing  so  we  shall  seem  to  lack  that  spirit 
of  reverential  awe  with  which  the  mention  of  his 
name  appears  to  inspire  some  persons,  and  shall 
thereby  bring  a shiver  of  apprehension  to  any  of 
our  hearers,  it  may  reassure  them  to  remember 
that  to  him  the  abuse  of  mortals  is  the  sweetest 
flattery.  If  therefore  we  should  bring  against 
him  the  most  serious  charges  of  immorality  and 
openly  impugn  his  motives,  we  should  only  grat- 
ify his  vitiated  pride  without  increasing  his  hostil- 
ity ; but  lest  we  seem  thereby  to  be  doing  him  a 
willing  kindness,  it  may  be  well  to  exorcise  him 
at  once  and  put  him  out  of  hearing,  — which  is 
easily  done. 


7 


9* 


ADDRESSES. 


Luther,  who  was  far  too  intimate  with  him,  — a 
great  deal  more  so  than  any  modern  reformer 
professes  to  be,  — discovered  that  he  could  not 
withstand  humor. 

Whenever  in  his  controversies  with  the  devil 
he  found  argument  and  Scripture  unavailing,  he 
would  say : “ Devil,  if,  as  you  say,  Christ’s  blood, 
which  was  shed  for  my  sins,  be  not  sufficient  to 
insure  my  salvation,  can’t  you  pray  for  me  your- 
self, Devil?”  and  this  suggestion  never  failed  to 
terminate  the  interview. 

We  do  not  pretend  to  the  sparkling  humor  of 
Luther ; but  we  feel  assured  that  the  little  pleas- 
antries which  may  escape  us  will  be  equally  effica- 
cious to  disgust  the  devil  and  drive  him  hence. 

Leaving  out  of  consideration  all  other  devils 
who  play  their  parts  in  the  many  strange  re- 
ligions of  the  world,  and  confining  ourselves  for 
the  present  to  that  one  who  is  supposed  to  devote 
himself  especially  to  the  torture  of  Christians,  let 
us  inquire,  with  all  the  air  of  making  a new 
acquaintance,  who  is  he?  One  will  answer,  he  is 
Satan,  the  rebellious  and  fallen  angel,  the  foe  of 
God  and  man,  who  has  been  since  the  world 
began.  Another  will  say,  he  is  the  last  edition  of 
a myth  which  in  their  ancient  history  the  Jews 
called  Satan ; and  still  another,  he  is  Ahriman  of 
the  old  Persians,  re-christened  by  the  Jews  and 
re-habited  by  the  Christian  fathers.  Let  it  suf- 
fice our  purpose,  however,  that  he  is  a being, 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL . 99 


real  or  mythical,  with  a history,  an  influence,  and 
a destiny  which  challenge  our  interest. 

If  we  attempt  to  depict  him  by  reference  to 
human  testimony,  we  shall  present  but  a vague 
and  confused  image.  He  has  been  credited  with 
the  power  of  a god  and  the  pettiness  of  a babe, 
the  wisdom  of  a sage  and  the  folly  of  a fool,  the 
cruelty  of  a pestilence  and  the  malice  of  a slan- 
derer. In  person  he  has  been  represented  as  an 
Apollo  and  as  a monster.  He  has  been  assigned 
the  horns  and  hoofs  of  a goat,  the  tail  of  an  ape, 
the  tongue  of  a serpent,  the  wings  of  a bat,  and 
every  complexion  possible  to  flesh  or  ghost.  By 
comparison  the  sea-serpent  is  a type  of  constancy 
in  form,  the  chameleon  a standard  of  color,  and  the 
moods  of  a woman  are  unvarying  as  the  seasons. 
But  on  one  point  all  writers  agree.  He  is  old, 
crafty,  and  energetic  “to  a fault,”  in  extending 
his  acquaintance. 

His  early  history  is  involved  in  obscurity.  The 
garden  of  Eden,  the  grave  of  Adam,  the  landing- 
place  of  the  ark,  — each  of  these  spots  has  been 
located  with  amazing  accuracy  in  a dozen  places, 
but  the  birthplace  of  the  devil  is  still  unknown ; 
nor  is  the  date  of  his  birth  clearly  proven. 

The  common  belief,  which  regards  him  as 
identical  with  the  Satan  of  the  Old  Testament,  is 
content  to  find  him  ready-made  in  the  beginning 
— the  very  beginning,  before  the  heavens  and 
the  earth — and  connects  him  with  the  human 


100 


ADDRESSES. 


race  in  its  infancy  by  supposing  that  in  the 
form  of  a serpent  he  introduced  sin  into  Eden ; 
but  as  to  where  he  acquired  sin  — whether  he  in- 
vented it  or  it  produced  him  — there  is  scarcely  a 
theory  held  with  confidence.  Such  questions  are 
by  common  consent  relegated  to  the  domain  of 
the  too  abstruse. 

If,  however,  we  turn  to  the  Old  Testament  we 
shall  find  little  to  justify  this  belief.  The  name 
“ Satan  ” signified  in  the  Hebrew  an  “ adversary  ” 
or  an  “ accuser ; ” and  this  is  the  sense  in  which 
we  find  it  used  in  the  old  Scriptures. 

The  first  mention  of  Satan  occurs  in  the  First 
Book  of  Chronicles,  where  it  is  written  that  “ Satan 
stood  up  against  Israel  and  provoked  David  to 
number  Israel.”  Read  this,  however,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  first  verse  of  the  24th  chapter  of 
Second  Samuel,  — “ And  again  the  anger  of  the 
Lord  was  kindled  against  Israel,  and  he  moved 
David  against  them  to  say,  Go,  number  Israel  and 
Judah,”  — and  it  will  appear  that  if  it  was  Satan 
who  provoked  the  act  it  was  in  furtherance  of  the 
Lord’s  purpose. 

In  the  first  chapter  of  Job  we  read : — 

“6.  Now  there  was  a day  when  the  sons^of  God 
came  to  present  themselves  before  the  Lord,  and  Satan 
came  also  among  them. 

“ 7.  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Satan,  Whence  comest 
thou  ? Then  Satan  answered  the  Lord,  and  said,  From 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  10 1 


going  to  and  fro  in  the  earth,  and  from  walking  up  and 
down  in  it. 

“ 8.  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Satan,  Hast  thou  con- 
sidered my  servant  Job,  that  there  is  none  like  him  in 
the  earth,  a perfect  and  an  upright  man,  one  that  fear- 
eth  God,  and  escheweth  evil  ? 

“ 9.  Then  Satan  answered  the  Lord,  and  said,  Doth 
Job  fear  God  for  nought? 

“ 10.  Hast  not  thou  made  an  hedge  about  him,  and 
about  his  house,  and  about  all  that  he  hath  on  every 
side?  thou  hast  blessed  the  work  of  his  hands,  and 
his  substance  is  increased  in  the  land. 

“ 11.  But  put  forth  thy  hand  now,  and  touch  all  that 
he  hath,  and  he  will  curse  thee  to  thy  face. 

“ 12.  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Satan,  Behold,  all  that 
he  hath  is  in  thy  power;  only  upon  himself  put  not 
forth  thine  hand.  So  Satan  went  forth  from  the  presence 
of  the  Lord.” 

Here  we  have  Satan  introduced  as  one  of — or 
among — the  sons  of  God.  He  comes  from  going 
to  and  fro  in  the  earth,  not  apparently  on  any 
evil  mission,  but  as  a member  of  the  spirit  band 
sent  forth  to  patrol  the  earth. 

This  idea  is  not  altogether  fanciful.  It  is  sup- 
ported by  a vision,  as  well  authenticated  as  the 
words  we  have  quoted,  of  which  we  may  read  in 
the  first  chapter  of  Zechariah : — 

ct  8.  I saw  by  night,  and  behold  a man  riding  upon  a 
red  horse,  and  he  stood  among  the  myrtle  trees  that 
were  in  the  bottom ; and  behind  him  were  there  red 
horses,  speckled,  and  white. 


102 


ADDRESSES. 


“9.  Then  said  I,  0 my  lord,  what  are  these?  And 
the  angel  that  talked  with  me  said  unto  me,  I will  shew 
thee  what  these  be. 

“ 10.  And  the  man  that  stood  among  the  myrtle  trees 
answered  and  said,  These  are  they  whom  the  Lord  hath 
sent  to  walk  to  and  fro  through  the  earth. 

“ 11.  And  they  answered  the  angel  of  the  Lord  that 
stood  among  the  myrtle  trees,  and  said,  We  have  walked 
to  and  fro  through  the  earth,  and,  behold,  all  the  earth 
sitteth  still,  and  is  at  rest.” 

In  the  one  hundred  and  ninth  Psalm  we  find 
the  passage : — 

“ Set  thou  a wicked  man  over  him ; and  let  Satan 
stand  at  his  right  hand.” 

And  in  the  third  chapter  of  Zechariah  we  read : 

“ 1.  And  he  shewed  me  Joshua  the  high  priest  stand- 
ing before  the  angel  of  the  Lord,  and  Satan  standing  at 
his  right  hand  to  resist  him. 

“ 2.  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Satan,  The  Lord  rebuke 
thee,  O Satan ; even  the  Lord  that  hath  chosen  Jerusa- 
lem rebuke  thee  : is  not  this  a brand  plucked  out  of 
the  fire?” 

These,  we  believe,  are  the  only  passages  in 
which  “Satan”  is  used  as  a proper  name  in  the 
Old  Testament;  and  we  have  quoted  them  at 
length,  as  they  furnish  the  only  scriptural  basis 
for  the  belief  in  Satan  as  a personal  being  prior 
to  the  Christian  era,  or  for  the  later  belief  that  he 
was  identical  with  the  devil  of  our  theology. 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  103 

It  is  apparent,  however,  that  the  characteristics 
here  given  to  Satan,  and  his  relation  to  the  divine 
government,  as  a sort  of  prosecuting  attorney  in 
the  Court  of  Heaven,  are  widely  different  from 
those  of  his  successor.  It  is  probable,  however, 
that  we  have  in  this  Satan  the  first  conception  of 
that  personified  evil  principle  which  under  vari- 
ous modifications  has  survived  to  the  present  day 
in  the  devil-myth  of  our  theology ; and  upon  this 
supposition  we  examine  the  record  further  to  as- 
certain, if  possible,  whether  the  existence  and 
office  of  Satan  may  reasonably  be  predicated  upon 
the  authority  of  divine  revelation,  — such  author- 
ity as  the  Church  assumes  for  the  Mosaic  account 
of  the  creation. 

In  the  first  place,  we  observe  that  none  of  the 
passages  quoted  are  found  in  the  Pentateuch,  — 
the  so-called  Books  of  Moses,  which  are  now 
commonly  believed  by  critics  to  have  been  com- 
posed from  four  to  eight  hundred  years  after  the 
time  of  Moses,  and  reduced  to  their  present  form 
in  the  reign  of  Josiah,  or  about  six  centuries 
before  Christ.  This  omission  of  Satan  in  the 
books  of  the  law  and  the  story  of  creation  is 
presumptive  evidence  of  the  fact  that  he  was  not 
known  to  Moses  either  by  divine  revelation  or  by 
human  tradition ; whether  we  assume  that  the 
books  attributed  to  him  were  written  by  him  or 
constructed  substantially  out  of  material  fur- 
nished by  him ; and  a little  study  of  the  chro- 


104 


ADDRESSES. 


nology  of  the  books  in  which  Satan  is  mentioned 
will  serve  to  strengthen  this  conclusion,  and  fix, 
approximately,  the  date  of  his  appearance  in  the 
Jewish  history. 

Thus  we  shall  find  that  Zechariah  was  not 
written  until  the  time  of  the  Captivity,  or  later; 
that  the  First  Book  of  Chronicles  was  written,  very" 
probably,  though  not  certainly,  about  the  same 
date ; and  that  the  one  hundred  and  ninth  Psalm 
belongs  to  a still  later  period,  after  the  return 
from  the  Captivity;  while  the  Book  of  Job,  con- 
cerning the  authorship  and  date  of  which  com- 
paratively little  is  known,  is  assigned  by  modern 
critics  to  a later  period  than  the  Pentateuch. 

We  find,  therefore,  that  all  of  these  books,  with 
the  possible  exception  of  Job,  were  written  after 
the  beginning  of  the  Captivity,  — by  which  we 
mean,  of  course,  the  long,  or  seventy  years’,  cap- 
tivity in  Babylon ; and  that  Job,  if  older,  may 
have  been  written  after  the  earlier  and  minor 
captivities  of  the  Jews,  and,  like  the  others,  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  Persian  traditions.  Indeed,  it 
is  said  to  have  been  the  universal  belief  of  the 
Jewish  and  Christian  Church  till  the  fourth  cen- 
tury that  the  Old  Testament  was  a compilation 
made  and  published  by  the  prophet  Ezra,  or 
Esdras,  some  time  after  the  return  of  the  Israel- 
ites from  the  Babylonish  Captivity.  And  so  we 
are  led  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Satan-myth, 
like  certain  fables  in  Genesis,  was  derived  through 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  105 

the  Persians,  nearly  a thousand  years  after  the 
time  of  Moses,  from  sources  not  related  to  the 
God  of  Christian  theology. 

Thus  we  find  in  Rawlinson’s  ‘‘Ancient  Mon- 
archies ” a tradition  of  the  manner  and  order  of 
creation,  very  similar  to  the  account  in  Genesis, 
which  was  held  by  the  early  Chaldeans  probably 
more  than  twenty-three  centuries  before  Christ, 
and  nearly  two  thousand  years  before  the  earli- 
est date  now  given  by  critics  for  the  writing  of 
Genesis,  and  from  which  Niebuhr  says  the 
Mosaic  account  was  clearly  drawn.  So  we  find 
current  at  the  same  time  the  story  of  the  flood 
and  the  ark,  the  building  of  the  tower,  and  the 
confusion  of  tongues. 

In  Media,  as  shown  by  the  earlier  portions  of 
the  Zendavesta,  the  doctrine  of  evil  spirits,  or 
“ devas,”  was  held  long  before  the  time  of  Moses. 
These  “ devas  ” were  represented  as  “ numerous, 
artful,  malicious,  inventors  of  spells,  and  deceivers 
and  injurers  of  mankind ; ” though  as  yet  no  ac- 
count was  given  of  their  creation  or  of  the  origin 
of  their  wickedness,  nor  was  any  single  superior 
intelligence  or  spirit  of  evil  placed  at  their  head. 
Later,  however,  in  the  dualism  of  the  Zoroastrian 
system,  we  find  Ahura-mazda,  Ormuzd,  or  Ormazd, 
the  Prince  of  Light,  and  Angro-mainyus,  or 
Ahriman,  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  — leaders  of 
the  opposing  forces  of  good  and  evil.  Ahriman 
created  a band  of  evil  spirits  called  devs,  the 


io  6 


ADDRESSES. 


most  powerful  of  which  was  an  immense  two-footed 
serpent.  After  the  creation  of  man,  Ahriman,  as 
a serpent,  tempted  him  to  eat  forbidden  fruit, 
and  sin  thereby  entered  the  world.  A redeemer 
was  to  be  born,  of  a virgin,  who  would  subdue 
the  devs,  raise  the  dead,  and  hold  a final  judg- 
ment. Ahriman  and  his  devs  would  be  plunged 
into  a lake  of  fire  for  purification,  and  ultimately 
pardoned.  Here  we  have  the  story  of  the  temp- 
tation in  Eden  current  among  the  Medes  at  a 
date  which  critics  place  from  eight  to  twelve  centu- 
ries before  Christ  and  long  before  the  Babylonish 
Captivity  or  the  writing  of  Genesis ; and  here  too 
we  find  at  least  a plausible  explanation  of  the 
statement  in  Genesis  that  the  tempter  was  a 
serpent  — no  mention  being  made  of  Satan  — 
and  of  the  puzzling  curse  which  was  put  upon 
him.  The  serpent  was  cursed  above  all  cattle 
and  above  every  beast  of  the  field,  and  doomed  to 
crawl  thereafter,  as  if  he  had  theretofore  known 
another  manner  of  locomotion;  which  may  be 
explained  by  the  Median  tradition  that  the 
tempter  appeared  as  a serpent  having  feet. 

In  like  manner  we  find  in  one  of  the  passion- 
plays  of  India,  as  described  by  Conway  in  his 
“ Demonology,”  Harischandra,  the  good  and  just 
man,  sorely  tried  and  tempted  by  Viswamitra, 
the  powerful  and  crafty  one,  who  acted  under 
authority  of  Indra;  or  the  drama  of  Job,  con- 
structed from  legends  of  great  antiquity,  which, 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  10? 

if  not  older  than  the  Book  of  Job,  may  at  least  be 
assumed  to  have  a different  origin. 

By  this  reference  to  the  traditions  of  other 
peoples  outside  of  the  Jewish  history,  by  com- 
parison of  the  dates  assigned,  and  equally  by 
consideration  of  the  internal  evidence  of  the 
Scriptures,  it  seems  that  we  may  safely  conclude 
that  the  Satan-idea  was  borrowed  by  the  Old 
Testament  writers  from  foreign  traditions;  and 
conceding  this  as  the  origin  of  the  Christian 
belief  in  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  we  may  confi- 
dently say  with  Conway  that  “ the  devil  was 
theologically  born  in  Persia  about  the  year  900 
B.  c.,”  although  we  should  incline  to  fix  the  date 
one  or  two  centuries  later. 

But  whatever  doubt  may  exist  concerning  the 
appearance  of  Satan  in  the  Old  Testament,  it  is 
certain  that  in  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era 
his  reputation  had  somewhat  changed,  and  he 
came  to  be  regarded  by  the  Jews  as  a being 
possessed  of  the  special  powers  and  propensities 
thereafter  assigned  to  the  devil.  He  is  variously 
mentioned  in  the  New  Testament  as  “ Satan,”  as 
an  “ old  serpent,”  “ the  Prince  of  this  World,” 
“ Beelzebub,”  “the  Prince  of  Darkness,”  “the 
wicked  one,”  and  by  many  other  titles.  He 
was  recognized  as  the  powerful,  wily,  and  mali- 
cious enemy  of  God  and  man.  He  no  longer 
figured  as  the  prosecutor  in  the  heavenly  court, 
an  agency  in  the  divine  plan  of  government,  but 


io8 


ADDRESSES. 


had  become  the  irreclaimable  rebel,  bent  on 
anarchy;  and  if  the  narratives  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment are  to  be  literally,  or  even  substantially, 
credited,  the  devil  of  that  time  was  a real  person, 
or  at  least  had  the  power  of  assuming  the  form 
and  speech  of  man,  and  had  the  singular  habit  of 
entering  into  and  taking  possession  of  man  and 
beast,  which  he  accomplished  not  in  his  own 
person,  but  by  means  of  imps,  demons,  or  deputy- 
devils  of  diminutive  size. 

It  is  written  that  he  tempted  Jesus  with  words 
and  sophistries ; that  he  took  him  to  a mountain- 
top  and  to  a pinnacle  of  the  Temple;  and  that 
he  was  addressed  by  Jesus,  — the  whole  narrative 
giving  to  each  the  same  distinct  personality. 
And  even  the  imps  or  sub-devils  were  appar- 
ently personal  beings,  as  may  be  concluded 
from  various  narratives  concerning  them. 

That  Jesus  himself  believed  in  the  personal 
existence  of  a devil,  or  devils,  is  not  clear.  The 
record  of  his  words  and  works  was  not  written 
by  him,  nor  (with  the  possible  exception  of  the 
Fourth  Gospel)  by  one  who  heard  or  saw  him. 

Greg,  in  his  “ Creed  of  Christendom,”  after  a 
careful  review  of  the  evidence  and  the  arguments 
of  modern  critics,  reaches  the  conclusion  that  the 
first  three  Gospels  “ are  compilations  from  a vari- 
ety of  fragmentary  narratives  and  reports  of  dis- 
courses and  conversations,  oral  or  written,  which 
were  current  in  Palestine  from  thirty  to  forty 
years  after  the  death  of  Jesus.” 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  109 

Matthew  Arnold  concludes  that  “ the  record 
when  we  first  get  it  had  passed  through  at  least 
half  a century  or  more  of  oral  tradition,  and 
through  more  than  one  written  account ; ” while 
many  critics  date  it  from  the  latter  part  of  the 
second  century,  or  later.  Under  these  circum- 
stances we  can  appreciate  the  difficulty  which 
Arnold  experiences  in  criticising  the  Evangelists, 
of  determining  “what  in  their  report  of  Jesus  is 
Jesus,  and  what  the  reporters.” 

We  know,  however,  that  the  people  to  whom 
Jesus  spoke  were  firm  believers  in  the  personality 
of  the  devil ; and  it  is  probable  that  he  spoke 
according  to  their  belief,  not  purporting  out  of 
divine  knowledge  either  to  confirm  or  refute  it, 
for  we  find  him  referring  to  Mammon,  recogniz- 
ing the  power  of  their  prophets  to  work  miracles, 
and  adopting  the  prevalent  belief  in  the  approach- 
ing end  of  the  world. 

That  the  general  teaching  of  the  Jews  on  the 
subject  of  evil  possession  was  similar  to  that  of 
our  forefathers  of  two  centuries  ago  may  be  shown 
by  reference  to  the  miracles  wrought  upon  de- 
moniacs. Thus,  according  to  Matthew,  Jesus  met 
two  men  possessed  with  devils,  and  was  about  to 
relieve  them,  when  the  devils  besought  him  that 
if  they  were  to  be  cast  out  of  the  men,  they 
might  be  suffered  to  enter  into  a herd  of  swine 
near  by,  which  was  permitted  them  ; and  straight- 
way the  swine  ran  into  the  sea  and  were  drowned. 


IIO 


ADDRESSES. 


In  the  story  according  to  Mark,  there  is  but 
one  demoniac,  but  the  devils  in  possession  are  a 
legion,  and  the  swine  about  two  thousand  in  num- 
ber ; while  in  Luke  the  swine  are  said  to  be  many, 
but  not  numbered.  By  these  several  narratives, 
notwithstanding  their  trifling  discrepancies,  we 
are  led  to  important  conclusions  touching  the 
devils  of  that  day.  They  were  small ; for  other- 
wise, whether  in  fact  a legion  (about  six  thousand), 
or  only  sufficient  in  number  to  supply  the  herd  of 
two  thousand  swine,  they  could  hardly  have  dwelt 
in  the  spare  room  of  a single  man.  They  were 
gregarious,  since  they  lived  in  such  communi- 
ties. They  spoke  the  language  of  the  country, 
inasmuch  as  they  conversed  with  men ; and  they 
had  decided  preferences  as  to  their  environment, 
though  as  to  their  taste  in  selecting  swine  for  a 
habitation,  after  trying  man,  there  may  be  some 
question. 

Now  in  all  these  respects  — in  respect  of  their 
size,  social  instincts,  lungs,  vocal  organs,  and 
brains  — these  devils  are  like  those  of  more 
modern  date.  Thus,  a thousand  years  later,  Saint 
Dominic  punished  a heretic  by  causing  him  to 
be  invaded  by  a troop  of  fifteen  thousand  devils ; 
Zwinglius  insisted  that  Luther  was  “ tenanted  by 
a whole  troop  of  them ; ” and  we  have  read  of  a 
later  instance  in  which  a poor  woman  was  pos- 
sessed of  seventy-five  thousand  of  these  creatures, 
who  by  their  united  efforts  so  affected  her  daily 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  Ill 


walk  and  conversation  that  she  was  commonly  said, 
with  apparent  reason,  to  be  “ full  of  the  devil.” 

In  like  manner  it  would  be  easy  to  prove  that 
these  devils  have  in  all  ages  been  excellent  lin- 
guists. Cotton  Mather,  in  his  interesting  ex- 
periments with  the  devils  which  possessed  the 
Goodwin  children,  found  that  they  understood 
English,  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew;  and  al- 
though he  noticed  that  one  inferior  language, 
probably  some  Indian  dialect,  seemed  to  confuse 
them,  this  was  probably  due  to  his  bad  accent. 

It  is  contended  by  critics  that  the  word  which 
is  translated  “devil”  in  the  New  Testament 
means  “ demon,”  and  that  the  notion  of  evil 
possession  had  its  origin  in  the  demonology  of 
that  period  and  not  in  the  Satan-myth  of  the 
early  Scriptures.  This  is  very  probable ; but  it 
is  evident  that  upon  the  decadence  of  the  demons 
their  imps,  or  sub-demons,  were  adopted  by  their 
successor,  the  devil,  and  that  he  has  been,  through 
succeeding  ages,  accredited  as  their  master  and 
the  responsible  author  of  witchcraft.  A witch 
who  could  not  boast  a solemn  compact  with  him 
and  show  his  private  mark  might  succeed  well 
enough  to  be  burned,  out  of  extra  caution,  but 
could  hardly  escape  the  suspicion  of  fraud. 

Having  now  considered  the  devil  in  his  infancy, 
let  us  advance  to  the  period  of  his  prime;  and 
this  brings  us,  with  only  a stop  or  two  by  the 
way,  to  the  seventeenth  century. 


1 12 


ADDRESSES. 


During  those  dark  and  middle  ages  when  igno- 
rance and  superstition  hung  over  the  world  like 
clouds  that  obscure  the  day,  when  a crafty  priest- 
hood hoarded  the  meagre  learning  of  the  times, 
the  devil  was  growing  apace,  but  he  was  yet 
immature.  He  was  as  active,  restless,  and  mis- 
chievous as  a growing  youth  of  his  propensities 
could  be,  and  from  time  to  time  he  drew  to  him- 
self the  serious  attention  of  the  world;  but  he 
was  not  yet  fully  understood  in  his  personal 
character  or  his  relations  to  the  divine  govern- 
ment. Thus,  on  one  occasion  in  the  eleventh 
century,  according  to  Matthew  of  Westminster, 
the  devil  having  been  outwitted  by  a certain 
priest,  Palumbus,  stretched  his  hand  forth  toward 
heaven  and  said,  “ O Almighty  God,  how  long 
will  you  endure  the  wickedness  of  the  priest 
Palumbus?”  And  “ the  priest,  Palumbus,  when 
he  heard  the  complaint  which  the  devil  addressed 
to  the  Lord  respecting  him,  knew  that  the  end  of 
his  days  was  at  hand.  On  which  account  he  am- 
putated all  his  limbs  with  a knife  and  so  died  in 
wonderful  penitence,  having  confessed  unheard  of 
crimes  to  the  Pope,  in  the  presence  of  all  the 
people.” 

But  about  this  time  the  devil  began  to  assume 
that  definite  position  in  theology  which  he  after- 
wards held.  Draper  says  that  Christianity  in  its 
earlier  days  knew  little  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
atonement ; that  it  was  not  admitted  by  the  Alex- 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  113 

andrian  theological  school;  that  Tertullian  did 
not  mention  it  in  his  Apology;  that  it  was  never 
prominently  advanced  by  the  fathers,  and  was 
not  brought  to  its  present  importance  until  the 
time  of  Anselm;  that  Philo  Judaeus  treated  the 
story  of  the  fall  as  symbolical,  and  Origen  re- 
garded it  as  an  allegory.  If  this  is  true,  it  was 
not  until  the  eleventh  century  that  the  serpent 
in  Paradise  became  an  essential  factor  in  the  great 
problem  of  original  sin  and  possible  redemption. 
And  not  until  a century  or  two  later  did  the 
superstition  with  which  the  human  mind  was  satu- 
rated manifest  itself  especially  by  the  delusion 
known  as  witchcraft.  From  that  time,  the  terror- 
ism exercised  by  the  devil  over  the  Christian 
world  grew  steadily  more  despotic.  The  common 
people  in  their  daily  life  saw  him  in  each  un- 
toward happening,  in  sickness,  accident,  storm, 
famine,  and  each  of  the  innumerable  mishaps  of 
their  miserable  lives.  They  knew  themselves  to 
be  his  predestined  prey,  and  suspected  each  other 
of  treacherous  compact  and  diabolical  service. 
If  they  sought  refuge  from  their  fears  in  the 
house  of  God,  it  was  often  but  to  experience  still 
worse  alarms ; for  there  the  implacable  fiend  who 
pursued  them  through  life  was  set  before  their 
excited  imaginations  as  their  merciless  torturer 
through  all  eternity. 

This  is  perhaps  the  period  to  which  Mr.  Lowell 
refers  in  his  late  poem : — 

8 


ADDRESSES. 


114 


“ Oh,  happy  days,  when  men  received 
From  sire  to  son  what  all  believed, 

And  left  the  other  world  in  bliss 
Contented  with  bedevilling  this.” 

In  1484  an  edict  was  issued  by  Pope  Innocent 
VIII.,  saying:  — 

“ It  is  come  to  our  ears  that  numbers  of  both 
sexes  do  not  avoid  to  have  intercourse  with  the 
infernal  fiends,  and  that  by  their  services  they 
affect  both  man  and  beast,  . . . that  they  blast  the 
corn  on  the  ground,  the  grapes  of  the  vineyard, 
the  fruits  of  the  trees,  the  grass  and  herbs  of  the 
held.”  For  these  reasons  the  inquisitors  were 
armed  with  the  apostolic  power  and  called  upon 
to  “ convict,  imprison,  and  punish,”  which  they 
proceeded  to  do  with  great  zeal  and  success. 

In  England  witchcraft  was  made  the  subject  of 
express  statute  in  1541  and  1562;  and  in  1604, 
early  in  the  reign  of  James  I.,  it  was  made  a cap- 
ital crime.  In  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen- 
turies the  belief  in  witchcraft  was  almost  universal. 
The  Church  of  Rome  continued  to  teach  the 
reality  of  the  crime;  and  in  England,  Scotland, 
and  America,  Puritanism  carried  forward  the  de- 
lusion almost  to  the  pitch  of  frenzy.  Not  only 
did  the  devil  by  his  imps  possess  and  torment 
individuals  and  communities,  but  he  personally 
appeared  to  many;  while  to  all,  substantially,  he 
was  as  real  a person  as  any  robber  or  murderer 
convicted  of  crime.  Luther  saw  him  repeatedly. 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  1 1 5 

He  became  so  accustomed  to  his  diabolical  vis- 
itor that,  when  he  was  awakened  by  some  dis- 
turbance and  found  it  was  only  the  devil,  he  felt 
relieved,  and  went  to  sleep  again  at  once.  He 
engaged  in  long  arguments  with  him,  and,  if  the 
black  spot  on  the  wall  in  the  Castle  of  Wartburg 
is  to  be  believed,  wasted  much  ink  on  him.  He 
was  therefore,  of  course,  a firm  believer  in  the 
devil  and  all  his  works,  especially  witchcraft, 
concerning  which  he  says : “ I would  have  no 
compassion  on  these  witches.  I would  burn 
them  all.” 

Erasmus,  and  probably  Calvin  also,  held  the 
same  belief;  and  in  the  next  century  we  find  its 
adherents  among  the  greatest  men  of  England. 
Sir  Thomas  Browne,  who,  curiously  enough,  had 
written  an  able  work  in  exposition  of  popular 
fallacies,  declared  that  all  who  doubted  witch- 
craft were  infidels  and  atheists.  Coke  was  Attor- 
ney-General when  the  statute  of  James  I.  was 
enacted ; and  Bacon  seems  to  have  at  least  coun- 
tenanced the  views  of  the  king  on  the  subject. 
Sir  Matthew  Hale  presided  at  the  trials  of  thir- 
teen witches  who  were  convicted,  and  had  no 
doubt  as  to  the  existence  of  the  crime.  Shake- 
speare introduced  witches  in  his  plays,  and  fre- 
quently recognized  the  popular  belief  in  the  devil 
and  his  mode  of  action.  Thus  Hamlet  says : — 

...  11  The  spirit  that  I have  seen 

May  be  the  devil ; and  the  devil  hath  power 


1 1 6 


ADDRESSES. 


To  assume  a pleasing  shape ; yea,  and  perhaps 
Out  of  my  weakness  and  my  melancholy, 

(As  he  is  very  potent  with  such  spirits) 

Abuses  me  to  damn  me.” 

Wesley  believed  in  witches  even  long  after  the 
delusion  had  been  generally  abandoned.  As  late 
as  1768  he  lamented  the  prevailing  scepticism, 
and  insisted  that  to  give  up  witchcraft  was  in 
effect  to  give  up  the  Bible;  and  surely  the 
preacher  of  forty  thousand  sermons  must  have 
been  accustomed  to  weigh  his  words  with  care. 

In  England  the  epidemic  reached  its  height 
during  the  Commonwealth,  and  began  to  subside 
early  in  the  Restoration,  as  the  result  apparently 
of  no  special  action  or  revelation  on  the  subject, 
but  simply  because  the  better  minds  became  in- 
tolerant of  the  doctrine.  Buckle  says  that  in 
1660  the  majority  of  educated  men  still  believed 
in  witchcraft,  and  in  1688  the  majority  rejected  it. 
The  last  judicial  execution  in  England  for  this 
crime  took  place  about  1716,  and  in  1736  the 
statute  was  repealed.  In  Scotland,  however,  the 
delusion  prevailed  to  a later  date,  the  trials  and 
executions  continuing  until  1722;  and  Macaulay 
tells  us  that  as  late  as  1773  the  divines  of  the 
Associated  Presbytery  passed  a resolution  declar- 
ing their  belief  in  witchcraft  and  deploring  the 
general  scepticism.  The  attitude  of  the  Scotch 
clergy  on  this  subject  was  most  uncompromising. 
To  them  the  devil  was  as  real  as  man.  They 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  1 1 7 

saw  him  repeatedly  in  the  form  of  dog  or  cat, 
old  crone,  idiot,  paralytic,  or  sceptic,  and  traced 
his  agency  in  sickness,  sudden  death,  and  all 
misfortunes. 

Buckle,  in  the  chapter  entitled  “ An  Examina- 
tion of  the  Scotch  Intellect  during  the  Seventeenth 
Century,”  tells  us  that  “ whenever  the  preacher 
mentioned  Satan  the  consternation  was  so  great 
that  the  church  resounded  with  sighs  and  groans. 

. . . Not  infrequently  the  people,  benumbed 
and  stupefied  with  awe,  were  rooted  to  their 
seats  by  the  horrible  fascination  exercised  over 
them,  which  compelled  them  to  listen,  though 
they  are  described  as  gasping  for  breath  and  with 
their  hair  standing  on  end.” 

In  the  opinion  of  these  divines,  the  devil  owed 
much  of  his  power  to  his  great  experience.  Thus 
one  declares : “ The  acquired  knowledge  of  the 
devil  is  great,  he  being  an  advancing  student, 
and  still  learning  now  above  five  thousand 
years.” 

Another : “ He  knowes  very  well,  partly  by 
the  quickness  of  his  nature  and  partly  by  long 
experience,  being  now  very  near  six  thousand 
years  old.” 

Another : “ He  being  compared  with  us  hath 
many  vantages ; as  that  he  is  more  subtill  by  na- 
ture, being  of  great  experience,  and  more  ancient, 
being  now  almost  sixe  thousand  yeeres  old.” 

In  America  the  executions  for  witchcraft  were 


1 1 8 


ADDRESSES. 


confined  to  the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, and  then,  as  in  Europe,  the  delusion  yielded 
to  the  gradual  change  in  sentiment.  During  its 
prevalence  some  of  the  most  distinguished  men 
of  New  England  were  subject  to  it.  Governor 
Winthrop  presided  at  the  trial  of  Margaret  Jones 
in  1648,  and  signed  the  death-warrant.  Cotton 
Mather,  although  vindicated  by  Mr.  Poole  against 
the  charge  of  undue  zeal  in  promoting  the  trials 
and  executions,  was  a firm  believer  in  witchcraft. 

In  his  “ Memorable  Providences,”  published  in 
1691,  when  the  craze  was  at  its  height  in  New 
England,  he  writes,  — 

“ I am  resolved  after  this  never  to  use  but  just  one 
grain  of  patience  with  any  man  that  shall  go  to  impose 
upon  me  a denial  of  devils  or  of  witches.  I shall  count 
that  man  ignorant  who  shall  suspect ; but  I shall  count 
him  downright  impudent  if  he  asserts  the  non-exist- 
ence of  things  which  we  have  had  such  palpable  con- 
viction of.” 

To  illustrate  the  temper  of  the  prosecutions 
in  America,  we  cite  a single  case  from  the  “ Annals 
of  Salem.”  On  June  28,  1692,  Rebecca  Nurse 
was  tried  for  witchcraft.  “ At  first  the  jury 
could  find  no  verdict  against  her.  Even  on  their 
second  return  they  had  not  found  her  guilty. 
When,  however,  they  were  in  their  places  and 
she  stood  at  the  bar,  they  agreed  on  a verdict 
against  her  because  she  made  no  answer  to  some 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  119 

interrogations  about  an  expression  which  she  had 
uttered/’  And  she  was  hung  shortly  afterward. 

It  is  well  known  that  Milton  complained  that 
his  wife  would  not  talk  enough,  and  that  the 
taciturnity  of  wives  has  been  the  bane  of  matri- 
mony ever  since ; but  we  believe  this  is  the  only 
case  on  record  where  a woman  was  actually  hung 
for  this  fault,  so  characteristic  of  the  sex. 

We  have  shown  that  this  madness  was  not  con- 
fined to  the  ignorant  classes ; nor  were  its  victims 
drawn  wholly  from  the  poor  and  lowly.  The  list 
embraces  a bishop  or  two,  clergymen,  historical 
characters,  as,  for  instance,  Joan  of  Arc,  men  of 
all  conditions,  women,  — especially  the  old  and 
ugly,  — children  scarcely  more  than  babes,  and 
even  certain  animals,  which  were  solemnly  con- 
victed as  special  agents  of  the  devil;  and  the 
number  of  those  who  suffered  is  almost  incredible. 
It  is  estimated  that  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries  more  than  two  hundred  thou- 
sand persons  were  executed,  mostly  burned,  for 
this  crime  in  Europe,  — one  half  of  the  number 
being  assigned  to  Germany  and  thirty  thousand 
to  England ; while  Dr.  Sprenger,  in  his  “ Life  of 
Mohammed,”  estimates  the  number  of  such  vic- 
tims during  the  Christian  epoch  at  nine  millions, 
though  we  have  found  no  data  which  seem  to 
justify  such  a computation. 

Of  course  many  of  the  trials  were  farcical,  the 
evidence  being  of  the  flimsiest  sort,  scarcely  more 


120 


ADDRESSES. 


satisfactory  to  the  legal  mind  than  the  famous 
test  employed  by  the  official  witch-finder,  Matthew 
Hopkins.  He  wrapped  the  suspected  persons 
in  sheets,  with  the  great  toes  and  thumbs  tied 
together,  and  dragged  them  through  a pond  or 
river.  If  they  sunk,  it  was  a sign  that  the  bap- 
tismal element  did  not  reject  them,  and  they 
were  cleared,  — or  if,  as  often  happened,  they 
were  drowned  in  the  process,  their  names  were 
cleared,  — but  if  they  floated,  they  were  deemed 
guilty  and  burned. 

In  some  of  the  trials,  however,  especially 
toward  the  close  of  the  prosecutions,  the  testi- 
mony was  such  as  would  have  been  convincing  in 
any  judicial  investigation  of  that  time.  When 
judge  and  jury  firmly  believed  in  the  doctrine  of 
evil  possession,  the  ill  repute  or  uncanny  aspect 
of  the  accused  made  a prima  facie  case  for  the 
prosecution  ; and  when  the  poor  tortured  victim, 
crazed  by  superstitious  terrors,  was  driven  to 
confess  the  charge,  and  out  of  a distempered 
imagination  to  supply  the  usual  background  of 
meetings  and  compacts  with  the  devil,  conviction 
followed  as  a matter  of  course. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  whole  history  of  witch- 
craft which  shows  so  clearly,  to  us  of  a later  age, 
the  utterness  of  the  delusion  and  its  stupefying 
effect  upon  the  ordinary  mind,  as  the  frequency 
and  sincerity  of  these  confessions.  And  yet  to 
the  prosecutors  they  must  have  seemed  the  most 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  12 1 


conclusive  evidence.  So,  too,  the  long  and  almost 
universal  prevalence  of  the  delusion  must  have 
given  to  them  assurance  of  its  vital  truth.  In 
short,  there  is  no  miracle  of  the  Church,  nor  any 
tenet  of  her  faith,  which,  tested  by  the  common 
rules  of  evidence,  was  more  fully  and  variously 
proven  than  this  doctrine  of  evil  possession.  It 
was  Older  by  uncounted  centuries  than  Chris- 
tianity, and  had  been  held  in  substance  by  almost 
or  quite  every  people  known  to  history.  It  was 
taught  by  the  Bible  and  by  the  Christian  Fathers, 
believed  to  be  sanctioned  by  the  Lord,  and  under 
its  sway  millions  had  perished.  It  was  attested 
by  multitudes  of  living  witnesses,  and  even  by 
the  dying  confessions  of  its  victims.  Was  ever 
supernatural  thing  so  evidenced?  And  yet  we 
find  that  within  a single  generation  of  men  this 
madness  which  had  held  the  world  for  centuries 
silently  passed  away.  There  was  no  violent  or 
extraordinary  revolution  of  thought,  — no  sudden 
emancipation  of  the  mind  by  supernatural  revela- 
tion, — but  a gradual  and  general  translation  from 
superstition  to  common  sense. 

In  reviewing  the  history  of  this  march  out  of 
bondage,  we  have  not  found  that  those  who  held 
themselves  the  apostles  of  immortal  truth  were  in 
the  van.  To  the  Church  the  movement  was 
another  passing  of  impious  heretics  to  destruction, 
— a masterly  manoeuvre  of  the  devil,  who  sought, 
by  instigating  the  repudiation  of  himself,  to  lead 


122 


ADDRESSES. 


his  dupes  away  from  the  proper  basis  of  theology, 
— but  the  people  listened  to  Montaigne,  Voltaire, 
and  Hobbes,  those  arrant  meddlers  with  the 
ancient  faith,  and  took  the  path  toward  intellect- 
ual liberty. 

We  have  said  that  the  devil  reached  his  prime 
in  the  seventeenth  century.  At  that  time  he  was 
feared  more  than  God  was  loved,  — perhaps  “more 
than  God  was  feared,  though  the  more  dreadful 
calamities  were  commonly  ascribed  to  the  wrath 
of  God.  At  this  time,  too,  Milton  wrote  his 
splendid  absurdities  called  “ Paradise  Lost,”  in 
which  he  accredited  Satan  anew  as  the  mighty 
archangel,  the  leader  of  heavenly  hosts,  the  re- 
bellious and  unconquered  foe  of  God,  the  proud 
spirit  who  found  it  “ better  to  reign  in  hell  than 
serve  in  heaven,”  the  subtle  tempter  of  man,  the 
author  of  sin,  and  the  absolute  owner  in  fee  of 
nearly  all  the  souls  that  God  had  created  for 
himself. 

It  was  perhaps  the  proudest  moment  of  his 
life;  but  he  was  approaching  a crisis  in  his 
career.  The  belief  in  witchcraft  died  with  the 
century,  and  from  that  time  we  trace  his  decline. 
But  of  course  we  do  not  mean  to  say  that  his 
overthrow  was  complete,  or  that  his  decline  has 
been  so  rapid  as  to  induce  a confident  hope  that 
our  generation  will  behold  his  final  extinction. 
We  refer  to  his  fall  as  we  speak  of  the  close  of 
the  next  century,  — not  doubting  that  time  will 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  1 23 

compass  it,  — but  not  as  an  accomplished  fact ; 
and  of  course  we  shall  not  assume  to  number  his 
declining  years.  In  the  science  of  facts  in  futuro , 
a large  allowance  must  be  made  for  what  may 
happen  of  its  own  accord,  without  deference  to 
our  plans ; and  so  in  predicting  this  event,  a mar- 
gin of  a few  thousand  years  in  fixing  the  date  is 
not  an  unreasonable  demand.  We  concede  that 
he  is  not  yet  dead ; and  although  he  has  fallen 
into  comparative  decrepitude,  the  signs  of  the 
times  indicate  that  he  has  not  yet  passed  into 
the  stage  of  “ innocuous  desuetude.”  When  the 
world  ceased  to  believe  in  the  peculiar  diabolical 
manifestations  known  as  witchcraft  and  to  burn 
people  for  impossible  crimes,  it  certainly  crippled 
the  old  adversary,  but  failed  to  drive  him  from  the 
field;  just  as,  doubtless,  the  reformation  of  taste 
by  which  man  learned  to  love  his  neighbor  living 
better  than  his  neighbor  roasted,  and  ceased 
hunting  him  for  food,  marked  a great  advance 
toward  spirituality,  but  did  not  utterly  abolish 
the  carnal  appetites. 

We  have  referred  to  the  devil’s  position  in  the 
theology  of  past  times.  This  position,  though 
somewhat  shaken,  he  still  retains.  There  is  a 
certain  theological  code,  of  pretty  wide  author- 
ity, which  contains  a statute  of  limitations  for  the 
protection  of  error,  whereby  it  is  forbidden  to 
question  a fallacy  after  it  has  attained  a certain 
age.  In  this  theology  the  devil  still  plays  his 


124 


ADDRESSES. 


part  as  the  responsible  author  and  promoter  of 
sin  in  a world  in  which  God  has  created  every- 
thing, devil  included,  and  governs  everything, 
devil  excluded,  — a sort  of  animated  firebrand  let 
loose  to  search  out  combustibles;  an  embodi- 
ment of  evil  boldly  confronting  omnipotence; 
a scourge  to  quicken  love ; a puzzle  even  to 
priests  and  elders.  He  still  serves  the  purpose 
of  the  rousing  exhorter,  and  we  continue  to  pray 
in  good  set  terms  for  deliverance  from  his  crafts 
and  assaults.  While  it  is  becoming  the  fashion 
of  orthodox  churches  to  help  their  converts  over 
obstacles  by  assuring  them  that  it  is  really  not 
essential  to  declare  implicit  faith  in  certain  ab- 
struse dogmas,  there  must  be  more  concession 
still  — and  it  will  come  slowly  — before  the  devil 
can  be  consistently  ignored.  The  dualism  of 
Zoroaster  may  sometime  die  out  of  Christian 
theology ; but  not  until  much  of  theology  shall  die 
out  of  Christianity,  — not  until  the  Church  shall 
dare  to  doubt  her  Fathers  and  the  premises  which 
make  an  insatiate  devil  and  pitiless  God  twin 
sequences.  This  change  is  probably  not  immi- 
nent, for  the  Church  is  conservative.  She  dearly 
loves  the  changeless  vestments  of  her  ancient 
faith,  her  solemn  liturgy  whose  words  have  sylla- 
bled the  praise  and  prayer  of  ages,  and  wisely 
looks  askance  at  innovation.  And  yet  she  moves. 
Once  she  held  the  earth  flat,  the  sun  a nimble 
satellite,  the  universe  still  young,  and  man  a thing 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL . 1 25 

of  yesterday,  because  of  words  written  by  un- 
known hands,  in  days  unknown,  of  things  mis- 
understood ; but  now  she  acknowledges  the 
antipodes,  appreciates  the  sun,  and  grants  anti- 
quity to  earth  and  man.  The  fires  of  hell  were 
kindled  by  the  torch  of  superstition  more  than 
two  thousand  years  ago,  and  the  Church  for  nearly 
as  long  has  pointed  out  the  lurid  flame  to  trem- 
bling sinners ; but  now  this  hell  of  fire  is  an  ignis 
fatuns  of  her  past,  and  even  the  name,  once  so 
potent,  gives  place  to  “ sheol,”  which  conveys  to 
the  modern  mind  nothing  more  definite  or  ter- 
rible than  “ Hades  ” or  “ Tartarus,”  “ Orcus,” 
“ Gehenna,”  or  the  “ dark  Plutonian  shore.”  And 
so  the  day  may  come  when  she  will  put  away 
her  inscrutable  dogmas  and  study  the  soul,  the 
great  problem  of  life,  as  science  studies  her  les- 
ser problems.  When  this  is  done,  she  will  re- 
member that  history  is  older  than  Christian 
dogma,  and  ethics  older  than  recorded  history. 
She  will  recall  the  ages  that  stretched  forward  to 
the  birth  of  Christ,  — a period  in  which  historic 
time  is  but  a day,  — the  splendid  achievements 
of  that  former  time,  the  morals  of  Buddha  and 
Confucius,  the  refinements  of  Egypt  and  Greece, 
and  even  the  meditations  of  heathen  philosophers 
on  the  great  phenomena  of  life  and  death.  The 
human  mind,  which  has  been  the  cradle  of  errors 
innumerable,  must  be  regarded  as  also  the  source 
of  revelation.  No  messenger  from  heaven  or 


126 


ADDRESSES. 


supernatural  miracle  came  with  the  eighteenth 
century  to  prove  the  fallacy  of  witchcraft.  The 
human  intellect  wrought  out  for  itself  the  correc- 
tion of  its  error.  No  voice  from  the  great  keeper 
of  secrets  came  to  tell  the  world  that  in  the  earth 
or  spaces  of  the  air  waited  a messenger  swift  as 
light  to  carry  words  around  the  world,  or  that  out 
of  fire  and  water  might  be  summoned  a tractable 
giant,  or  to  explain  the  law  of  gravitation  or  any 
principle  of  science.  God  stored  away  the  facts 
and  left  the  human  intellect  to  find  its  clews  and 
make  discovery ; and  if  so  strange  and  improb- 
able a thing  should  happen  as  that  the  problems 
of  the  soul  should  ever  be  fully  solved  for  the 
benefit  of  men  on  earth,  the  solution  will  come, 
not  from  the  clouds,  but  as  the  product  of  human 
thought  — perhaps  the  slow  result  of  studious 
ages  — perhaps  the  intuition  of  some  extraordi- 
nary genius. 

But  putting  aside  the  devil  of  theology,  how  is 
it  with  the  devil  as  a practical  influence?  Is  he 
dying?  Will  he  revive?  Shall  we  measure  the 
remnant  of  his  life  by  years  or  by  centuries? 

It  must  appear,  to  all  who  care  to  observe, 
that  superstition  has  still  a strong  hold  upon  the 
imagination.  Let  us  consider  our  own  people, 
who  certainly  possess  more  than  the  average  intel- 
ligence and  common-sense  of  the  world;  and  if 
we  leave  out  of  account  the  most  ignorant  classes, 
black  and  white,  to  whom  witchcraft  is  still  a faith 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  12 7 

and  terror,  it  is  yet  safe  to  say  that  a majority 
will  still  be  found  to  have  a secret  or  professed 
faith  in  the  supernatural.  It  is  still  a common 
thing  to  say  of  some  wretched  criminal  that  he  is 
possessed  of  or  controlled  by  the  devil,  instead 
of  saying  that  he  is  possessed  of  a criminal  or 
besotted  ancestry  and  controlled  by  his  heritage 
of  animalism,  ignorance,  poverty,  and  vicious 
associations ; and  there  is  still  a lurking  dread  of 
occult  influences.  The  belief  in  lucky  days  and 
numbers,  dreams,  omens,  charms,  and  horoscopes 
attests  the  fact.  Doubtless  many  a fair  maiden 
of  our  acquaintance,  conscious  that  her  natural 
charms  are  not  of  the  repellent  sort,  arms  herself 
against  the  ghostly  enemy  by  wearing  a horse- 
shoe on  her  chatelaine  or  a cherub’s  wish-bone  in 
her  bodice.  But  we  are  able  to  support  our 
proposition  by  evidence  much  more  direct  and 
conclusive.  Nearly  every  community  has  its  cir- 
cle of  spiritualists,  many  of  whom  are  persons  of 
education  and  marked  intelligence,  who  sincerely 
believe  that  they  are  visited  by  the  spirits  of  the 
departed.  Certain  of  them  profess  to  be  able,  by 
reason  of  some  peculiarity  of  organization  or 
temperament,  to  establish  communication  with  the 
spirit-land,  to  do  by  ghostly  assistance  things 
otherwise  impossible,  to  discover  secrets,  to 
predict  coming  events,  to  advise  with  superhuman 
wisdom,  and  even  to  materialize  their  disembodied 
visitors  and  make  them  seen  and  felt.  Without 


128 


ADDRESSES. 


stopping  to  discuss  at  length  the  so-called  phe- 
nomena of  spiritualism,  let  it  suffice  that  they 
have  provoked  the  careful  investigation  of  non- 
believers, even  scientific  men,  and  that  among 
those  who  reject  the  claims  of  the  spiritualists 
there  are  many  who  are  puzzled  to  explain  the 
manifestations  they  have  witnessed  without  con- 
ceding the  possibility  of  spiritual  agency;  and  it 
needs  no  argument  to  show  how  easily  one  may 
slide  from  the  belief  in  a trance-medium  into  the 
real  old-fashioned  doctrine  of  witchcraft. 

So  in  the  healing  art  the  reliance  upon  mys- 
terious powers  is  very  common.  One  person 
wears  a red  string  about  his  neck  as  a safeguard 
against  colds  or  rheumatism;  another  puts  his 
faith  in  the  egg  of  a black  hen  laid  in  the  full  of 
the  moon.  A few  years  ago  it  was  believed  by 
a large  portion  of  our  people  that  blue  glass 
possessed  the  remarkable  power  to  convert  the 
sun’s  rays  into  a quick  remedy  for  all  diseases ; 
and  to-day  an  equal  number  of  our  best  people, 
many  of  them  thoughtful  and  critical  minds, 
honestly  believe  that  one  person  may  find  in 
the  will  or  concentrated  thought  of  another, 
without  recourse  to  medication  or  hygiene,  a 
cure  for  every  ailment  from  a broken  heart  to 
a bald  head.  Of  course  the  advocates  of  the 
mind  cure  will  defend  it,  without  resort  to  magic, 
by  reference  to  known  phenomena  of  mind  and 
matter,  — perhaps  in  accordance  with  Bacon’s 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  1 29 

theory  that  sympathy  might  cure  warts ; but  on 
the  other  hand  may  it  not  be — just  possibly  — 
a survival  of  orthodox  witchcraft?  It  is  well 
known  that  in  old  times  there  were  divers  sorts  of 
witches,  some  wholly  and  ostentatiously  wicked, 
and  others  ostensibly  good.  These  later  were 
known  as  “white  witches.”  They  came  to  the 
sick  and  healed  them  without  drugs  or  fee ; but 
it  was  generally  understood  that  the  patient  was 
thereby  put  under  such  obligations  to  their  mas- 
ter the  devil  as  no  man  could  safely  discharge. 

As  this  subject  is  one  of  practical  and  growing 
importance,  let  us  call  up  a very  wise  and  pious 
man  who  studied  it  two  hundred  years  ago,  and 
examine  him  as  a sort  of  diabolical  expert.  The 
Rev.  Increase  Mather,  in  his  “ Remarkable  Provi- 
dences,” published  in  1684,  says  with  reference  to 
these  irregular  healers  : — 

“ Let  such  practitioners  think  the  best  of  them- 
selves, they  are  too  near  akin  to  those  creatures 
who  commonly  pass  under  the  name  of  ‘ white 
witches.’  They  that  do  hurt  to  others  by  the 
devil’s  help  are  called  ‘ black  witches ; ’ but  there 
are  a sort  of  persons  in  the  world  that  will  never 
hurt  any ; but  only  by  the  power  of  the  infernal 
spirits  they  will  unbewitch  those  that  seek  unto 
them  for  relief.  I know  that  by  Constantius  his 
law  black  witches  were  to  be  punished,  and  white 
ones  indulged ; but  Mr.  Perkins  saith,  that  the 
good  witch  is  a more  horrible  and  detestable 

9 


130 


ADDRESSES . 


monster  than  the  bad  one.  Balaam  was  a black 
witch,  and  Simon  Magus  a white  one.  This  lat- 
ter did  more  hurt  by  his  cures  than  the  former 
by  his  curses.”  And  again,  “ The  persons  thus 
recovered  cannot  say  ‘ The  Lord  was  my  healer,’ 
but,  ‘ The  Devil  was  my  healer.’  Certainly  it 
were  better  for  a man  to  remain  sick  all  his  days, 
yea,  (as  Chrysostom  speaks),  he  had  better  die 
than  go  to  the  devil  for  help.” 

It  seems  to  have  been  as  dangerous  in  that 
time  to  be  healed  by  a white  witch  as  in  these 
days  for  one  who  has  succeeded  in  growing  up 
under  the  regular  practitioner  to  be  cured  by  the 
white  pellets  of  homoeopathy.  Better  die  of  a 
drug-store  than  live  without  medicine. 

Of  course  we  do  not  pretend  that  this  is  real 
witchcraft;  but  if  we  admit  that  one  person  may 
by  his  will  remove  the  disease  of  another,  it  will 
be  easy  enough  to  believe  he  may  in  like  manner 
produce  disease  in  another;  and  under  the  old 
law  this  would  make  him  a witch. 

Such  considerations  lead  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  faith  which  found  expression  in  witchcraft 
has  never  been  wholly  abandoned ; but  even  if 
it  had  been,  we  should  hardly  feel  secure  from 
its  recurrence. 

Darwin  tell  us  that  men  sometimes,  by  what  he 
terms  “ reversion,”  reproduce  peculiarities  of  a 
remote  ancestor.  Thus,  for  example,  if  Mr. 
Smith  of  the  last  century  was  differentiated  by  a 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  131 

blue  nose,  his  great-grandson,  Mr.  Smythe  of 
to-day,  may  be  similarly  distinguished,  notwith- 
standing an  intermediate  line  of  white  or  red 
noses;  or,  if  the  Englishman  of  the  seventeenth 
century  devoutly  believed  in  witches,  some  true 
Briton  may  be  born  to-day  in  Boston  who  shall 
grow  up  in  the  same  belief.  And  so  there  is 
some  ground  for  apprehension  lest  our  people  — 
our  best  people  — may  discover  that  witchcraft 
was  “ Early  English,”  and  revert  to  it.  Or,  if  we 
reject  the  term  “ reversion  ” as  Darwinian  and 
therefore  wicked,  let  us  regard  the  same  idea 
under  cover  of  the  goodly  word  “ revival.”  Tyler 
demonstrates  in  his  “ Primitive  Culture  ” that 
witchcraft,  far  from  being  a product  of  mediae- 
valism,  was  a revival  from  remote  days  of 
primeval  history ; that  prior  to  its  revival  in  the 
thirteenth  century  it  suffered  a decline  almost  to 
extinction.  So  also  spiritualism  in  this  century 
is,  “ in  great  measure,  a direct  revival  from  the 
regions  of  savage  philosophy  and  peasant  folk- 
lore.” “ Planchette  ” was  known  in  Europe  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  and  revived  in  America 
within  our  times;  while  the  mind-cure  is  but  a 
recurrence  of  that  intermittent  fever  of  the  popu- 
lar imagination  which  may  be  said  to  be  con- 
genital with  the  race.  Who  knows  what  fashion 
of  devil,  worn  and  discarded  by  some  former  age, 
we  may  live  to  see  revived  by  ours? 

There  is  yet  another  source  of  danger  which  a 


132 


ADDRESSES. 


lofty  sense  of  duty,  rising  superior  to  all  consid- 
erations of  personal  safety,  constrains  us  to  men- 
tion. Plato  tells  us,  and  it  was  contended  by 
the  Alexandrian  school  and  is  now  admitted  by 
modern  science,  that  there  are  women  in  the 
world.  And  what  is  woman?  Solomon  says 
that  to  understand  her  is  the  beginning  of  insan- 
ity, or  something  to  that  effect;  Cato  declared 
that  “ if  the  world  were  only  free  from  women, 
men  would  not  be  without  the  converse  of  the 
gods ; ” meaning,  doubtless,  that  the  gods  might 
then  be  heard. 

Chrysostom  pronounced  her  “ a necessary  evil,  a 
natural  temptation,  a desirable  calamity,  a domes- 
tic peril,  a deadly  fascination,  and  a painted  ill;  ” 
and  the  long  history  of  the  strained  relations  be- 
tween earth  and  heaven  shows  that  woman  was 
implicated,  if  not  wholly  in  fault.  According  to 
the  rabbinical  legend  Adam  was  twice  married ; 
and  it  is  a fact  well  known  in  the  family,  but 
seldom  mentioned,  that  his  first  wife,  Lilith, 
having  quarrelled  with  him  on  the  question  of 
headship,  ran  away  with  a person  of  dubious 
character  and  strong  sulphurous  odor ; and  when 
her  successor,  Eve,  saw  the  snake  in  the  garden, 
did  she  step  on  him  as  a right-minded  lady  would 
naturally  do  ? Alas  ! far  otherwise.  Painful  as  it 
is  to  criticise  the  conduct  of  our  own  mother,  we 
are  bound  to  say  that  if  upon  this  occasion  she 
had  treated  the  devil  according  to  his  character 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  1 33 

and  personal  appearance,  instead  of  taking  his 
advice  with  a deference  due  only  to  archbishops 
and  lawyers,  he  would  probably  have  turned  his 
attention  to  the  inhabitants  of  some  other  planet 
and  left  man  as  he  found  him,  — only  a little  lower 
than  the  angels,  and  far  more  interesting. 

Now,  without  going  so  far  as  to  impute  her 
action  to  inherent  naughtiness  or  a desire  to  make 
trouble  in  society,  we  may  at  least  suppose  that 
she  was  over-credulous,  and  that  this  weakness 
has  made  others  of  her  sex  the  especial  objects  of 
similar  attacks  ever  since.  Was  not  the  Witch  of 
Endor  a woman?  Were  not  the  victims  of  the 
witchcraft  prosecutions  almost  all  women?  Are 
not  the  women  of  to-day  constantly  imposed  upon 
by  masculine  romance  in  a way  that  makes  Eve 
seem  wary  and  suspicious?  And,  finally,  is  there 
not  in  woman  a subtle  witchery  that  no  man  shall 
gainsay  or  withstand?  Does  not  man  love  her 
more  than  anything  else  in  the  world  — except  him- 
self— and  trust  her  more  implicitly  than  even  math- 
ematics or  natural  laws?  Let  us  remember  also 
that  woman  is  numerous.  The  census  embraces 
millions  of  her.  (“  Happy  rascal ! ” a Frenchman 
exclaims.)  In  New  England  she  is  said  to  exist 
in  the  proportion  of  one  woman  to  seven-eighths 
of  a man.  And  yet  she  has  been  held  in  subjec- 
tion by  this  fractional  tyrant,  who  has  forbidden 
her  to  vote,  or  to  go  to  war  or  Congress.  Let  us 
then  suppose  that  after  a time  she  wearies  of 


134 


ADDRESSES. 


bondage  and  dreams  of  revolt;  and  that  in  that 
fatal  hour  the  tempter  shall  persuade  her  that  a 
little  punishment  and  discipline  would  improve 
the  flavor  of  man  and  do  him  a real  kindness; 
and  it  will  be  easy  to  imagine  that,  with  the 
highest  motives,  those  who  now  possess  us  only 
to  our  great  content  may  be  led  to  play  the 
devil  with  us  after  the  old  fashion. 

With  all  these  tendencies  and  possibilities  in 
view,  we  cannot  say  that  the  devil  is  dead,  or  even 
that  he  will  never  recover  his  pristine  vigor.  The 
world  moves  on,  but  not  with  equal  pace. 
“ Vestigia  nulla  retrorsum  ” is  the  law  of  progress 
only  in  the  dreams  of  youth.  Experience  traces 
the  backward  steps  full  easily.  It  was  Tennyson 
the  boy  who  “ dipt  into  the  future,  far  as  human 
eye  could  see,  Saw  the  vision  of  the  world  and  all 
the  wonders  that  would  be,”  and  saw  no  back- 
ward steps;  but  Tennyson  the  old  man,  “ Full  of 
sad  experience,  moving  toward  the  stillness  of  his 
rest,”  now  writes  of 

“ Evolution  ever  climbing  after  some  ideal  good, 

And  Reversion  ever  dragging  Evolution  in  the  mud,” 

and  finds  that  “ Progress  halts  on  palsied  feet,” 
and  bids  us 

“ Still  remember  how  the  course  of  time  will  swerve, 

Crook,  and  turn  upon  itself  in  many  a backward  streaming 
curve.” 

Who  knows  what  backward  flow  may  sweep  us 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  DEVIL.  135 

once  again  into  the  gloom  of  long  ago?  Yet  the 
world  loves  better  the  poet  of  youth  and  hope. 
Yet  we 

“doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  runs, 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  by  the  process  of 
the  suns.” 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


Read  before  the  Chicago  Literary  Club 
on  June  3,  1889. 

THE  season  is  now  at  hand  when  we,  like 
other  good  citizens,  may  lay  aside  those 
things  which  we  are  accustomed  to  call  the 
burdens  of  professional  and  business  life,  and 
seek  for  recreation,  each  according  to  his  taste, 
his  means,  or  the  needs  of  those  for  whose  wel- 
fare he  is  most  solicitous. 

To  one  the  mention  of  a summer  vacation 
suggests  some  quiet  spot  in  the  country,  perhaps 
by  a pretty  lake,  with  grass  and  shade  for  the 
children.  In  another  it  awakens  recollections  of 
the  seashore  and  the  sea,  or  the  mountains,  the 
forest  camp,  or  the  river  and  canoe. 

And  because  the  summer  sun  and  soft  air  and 
the  new  foliage  and  flowers  have  set  me  to  dream- 
ing of  summer  days  well  spent  and  well  remem- 
bered, I propose  to  tell  this  evening  the  story  of 
how  two  friends  escaped  the  heat  and  turmoil  of 
the  city  and  the  weariness  of  daily  life,  and  found 
rest  and  health  and  the  keenest  of  pleasurable 
sensations  in  a Northern  wilderness. 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


137 


In  July,  1878,  a friend  who  had  made  several 
fishing  trips  to  the  rivers  of  Northern  Michigan 
and  the  shores  of  Lake  Superior,  proposed  to  me 
an  excursion  to  the  Nipigon  River,  — a stream 
of  considerable  size  flowing  into  Lake  Superior 
from  the  north,  somewhat  noted  for  its  wild 
scenery,  and  famous  among  sportsmen  as  the 
finest  trout-stream  in  America. 

At  that  time  the  Nipigon  was  difficult  of  access. 
It  could  be  reached  at  long  intervals  by  steam- 
boat from  Duluth,  and  otherwise  only  by  a long 
and  somewhat  dangerous  trip  by  sailboat.  This 
fact,  together  with  the  time  required,  and  the 
elaborate  provision  to  be  made  in  the  way  of 
camp  outfit  and  supplies,  deterred  most  sports- 
men from  attempting  the  trip.  My  friend,  how- 
ever, is,  as  you  all  know,  a gentleman  who  delights 
in  hard  tasks,  and  is  always  ready  to  join  in  any 
difficult  undertaking  upon  the  sole  condition  that 
he  shall  be  allowed  to  do  most  of  the  work ; and 
knowing  this  peculiarity,  I accepted  his  proposi- 
tion and  even  assented  to  this  condition..  So 
without  taking  time  to  be  assisted  by  me,  he  went 
ahead  and  made  the  necessary  preparations. 

By  correspondence  with  the  managers  of  a line 
of  Canadian  steamers  running  to  Duluth,  he  ar- 
ranged to  have  a certain  boat  take  us  at  the  Sault 
Ste.  Marie,  and  land  us  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Nipigon  on  its  westward  trip.  He  then  bought 
supplies,  — flour,  pork,  canned  meats,  tea,  coffee, 


138 


ADDRESSES. 


condensed  milk,  hard-tack,  and  other  things  too 
numerous  to  be  now  remembered,  — and  had 
them  packed  in  boxes  of  a size  convenient  for 
carrying,  each  box  being  numbered  and  its  con- 
tents recorded  in  a general  index. 

He  also  had  his  fine  tents  and  camp  outfit 
overhauled  and  put  in  order,  superintended  the 
purchase  of  fishing-tackle,  and  took  thought  con- 
cerning woollen  socks,  hobnailed  shoes,  rubber 
coats,  mosquito-netting,  needles  and  thread,  and 
other  details.  In  the  mean  time  I was  not  idle. 
I talked  about  the  importance  of  getting  things 
ready,  and  strapped  my  own  valise  when  it  was 
packed. 

Having  thus  prepared  ourselves,  we  left  Chi- 
cago on  the  1 8th  day  of  July,  and  proceeded  by 
steamer  to  the  Sault.  Here  we  were  compelled 
to  wait  a day  for  the  boat  which  was  to  take  us 
across  Lake  Superior ; and  while  thus  detained  we 
fell  in  with  a gentleman  from  Indiana,  who  was 
on  his  way  to  the  North  Shore. 

He  was  a keen  sportsman,  and  very  anxious  to 
visit  the  Nipigon;  and  as  he  seemed  a compan- 
ionable man,  we  invited  him  to  join  our  party, 
which  he  was  apparently  very  glad  to  do,  and  so 
together  we  embarked  for  Nipigon  Bay,  where  we 
expected  to  get  Indians  and  canoes  for  the  river. 

The  next  morning  we  awoke  to  find  ourselves 
drifting  in  a dense  fog  among  the  islands  of  the 
North  Shore,  about  fifty  miles  from  the  river. 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


139 


The  Captain  had  not  taken  this  course  for 
many  years,  and  feared  to  proceed ; and  so,  after 
waiting  some  hours  in  vain  for  the  fog  to  lift,  he 
proposed  to  steam  out  into  the  lake  and  make 
for  Duluth.  This,  of  course,  meant  for  us  a long 
detour,  and  the  probable  defeat  of  our  plans,  and 
therefore  we  induced  him  to  return  to  a light- 
house, on  one  of  the  islands  we  had  just  passed, 
to  enable  us  to  inquire  about  other  means  of 
transportation.  Fortunately  we  found  on  this 
island  a band  of  Indians  who  had  a sailboat, — 
an  old  and  battered  craft,  but  still  staunch  and 
large  enough  for  our  purpose,  — and  here  we 
took  leave  of  the  steamer,  and  intrusted  our  selves 
and  possessions  to  the  guileless  savages,  who 
agreed  for  such  and  such  moneys  to  carry  us 
to  the  Nipigon. 

Of  this  trip  I will  not  stop  to  speak  in  detail, 
though  it  was  not  without  interest  and  incident. 
Failing  to  make  the  run,  as  we  had  hoped,  in  one 
day,  we  were  compelled  to  land  on  a rocky  island 
and  make  camp  for  the  night,  — by  no  means  a 
pleasant  experience,  as  it  involved  a general  un- 
packing and  repacking  of  outfit,  and  the  camp 
was  a most  uncomfortable  one. 

Our  Indians,  four  in  number,  could  not  speak 
or  understand  English,  and  the  sign  language  is 
not  especially  adapted  to  a dark  night  in  a dense 
thicket;  hence  some  confusion  and  a little  pro- 
fanity,— the  latter  being  executed  by  the  gen- 


140 


ADDRESSES. 


tleman  from  Indiana,  but  promptly  forgiven  by 
the  gentlemen  from  Illinois. 

The  leader  of  these  Indians  was  a tall,  splendid 
fellow,  silent  and  grave,  with  regular  features  and 
a thoughtful  mien, — in  marked  contrast  to  the 
others.  We  grew  to  regard  him  with  an  admi- 
ration akin  to  awe ; and  even  when  it  became 
apparent  that  he  considered  us  but  ordinary 
dudes  and  frivolous,  we  still  admired  him. 

The  next  morning  we  reached  Red  Rock,  the 
Hudson  Bay  Company’s  post  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Nipigon,  and  after  dismissing  our  crew,  were  in- 
terested to  learn  that  our  noble  chief — he  of  the 
lofty  countenance  and  serious  eyes  — was  the 
most  distinguished  thief  in  all  that  Northern 
country.  But  still  we  admired  him ; and  for 
days  thereafter,  especially  on  failing  to  find 
some  useful  articles  formerly  of  our  baggage, 
we  would  speak  of  him  in  terms  of  affectionate 
remembrance.  • 

At  Red  Rock  we  engaged  two  large  birch-bark 
canoes  and  four  Indians,  or  half-breeds,  to  man 
them  ; and  after  purchasing  from  the  agent  further 
supplies  for  these  men,  and  waiting  for  the  canoes 
to  be  freshly  gummed,  we  started  early  the  next 
morning  for  our  trip  up  the  river. 

My  friend  and  I occupied  one  canoe,  with  two 
of  the  guides  and  part  of  the  baggage,  and  the 
gentleman  from  Indiana  took  the  other,  with  two 
guides  and  the  remainder  of  the  baggage. 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON.  141 

Each  canoe  was  large  enough  to  carry  a load 
of  nearly  or  quite  a thousand  pounds,  and  yet  so 
light  as  to  be  readily  borne  on  the  shoulders  of 
two  men  at  the  portages.  Each  was  fitted  out 
with  roughly  made  rowlocks  and  oars ; but  as  a 
rule  our  Indians  used  the  paddle,  — one  sitting  at 
the  stern  and  the  other  kneeling  at  the  bow;  we 
reclined  amidships,  propped  up  by  rolls  of  blank- 
ets, travelling  bags,  and  other  soft  impedimenta 
of  the  party.  In  the  arrangement  of  our  section, 
my  friend  displayed  his  usual  energy  and  taste 
for  the  luxurious,  and  the  result  was  a couch  on 
which  Cleopatra  might  have  reclined  in  her  favor- 
ite yachting  suit  with  perfect  comfort,  — it  was  so 
smooth  and  soft. 

By  this  achievement,  and  a long  series  of 
devices  for  my  comfort,  and  incidentally  his  own, 
he  won  and  retained  the  title  of  the  Sybarite,  by 
which  he  will  henceforth  appear  in  this  truthful 
record. 

During  this  first  day’s  journey  we  made  no 
attempt  at  fishing,  having  determined  to  push 
on  as  rapidly  as  possible  to  the  better  fishing- 
grounds  of  the  upper  river;  so  we  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  enjoy  the  wild  scenery  and  the  novel 
pleasure  of  canoeing.  Reclining  at  ease,  the 
Sybarite  with  his  baleful  cigarette  and  I with  my 
harmless  pipe,  we  glided  over  the  smooth  water 
where  the  river  widens  into  a pretty  lake,  or 
crept  slowly  along  beneath  the  overhanging 


142 


ADDRESSES. 


branches  of  the  trees,  where  the  Indians  labori- 
ously held  our  boat  up  against  the  swift  current 
in  the  narrows.  The  clear,  bracing  air,  the  chang- 
ing beauties  of  rocks  and  trees,  dark  pools  and 
tumbling  rapids,  the  constant  laughter  and 
strange  language  of  our  guides,  and  our  own 
bright  anticipations  of  glorious  sport  ahead,  — all 
combined  to  make  this  day  delightful.  The 
sense  of  freedom,  the  feeling  that  we  were  leav- 
ing far  behind  us  the  vexing  cares  of  life,  and 
above  all  the  delicious  intoxication  of  woollen 
shirts  and  soft  hats,  quite  overcame  us.  We 
cracked  jokes  on  the  unheeding  Indians,  laughed 
long  and  loud  at  stories  we  had  often  heard  in 
silence,  and  even  sang  songs,  — that  is,  the  Syba- 
rite and  I sang;  but  for  some  reason  which  I 
never  could  divine,  the  gentleman  from  Indiana, 
who  at  home  was  a teacher  of  vocal  music  and  a 
singer  of  renown,  did  not  join  us. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  we  reached  Camp  Alex- 
ander, at  the  foot  of  the  first  portage,  and  made 
camp ; or  rather  we  left  two  Indians  to  make 
camp,  and,  taking  the  others  and  one  canoe,  forced 
our  way  a little  distance  up  the  river,  with  intent 
to  catch  some  trout  for  our  supper.  This  was 
easily  accomplished. 

In  less  than  an  hour  we  had  taken  as  many 
trout  as  we  dared  to  think  of  eating  that  night, 
and  returned  to  find  our  camp  in  order  and  the 
kitchen  fire  waiting  for  our  fish.  The  trout  taken 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


143 


here  were  small,  running  from  a pound  to  a pound 
and  a half  in  weight,  but  very  numerous  and 
eager  for  the  fly.  I find  by  reference  to  my  notes 
that  I used  two  flies  and  took  five  pairs,  besides 
several  single  fish ; and  I am  willing  to  admit 
that  the  Sybarite  surpassed  me,  although  it  is  not 
a fact. 

Here  we  made  the  important  discovery  that  our 
chief  guide,  Francois,  was  a capital  cook.  At 
least,  he  knew  how  to  broil  trout ; and  probably 
he  discovered  that  we  knew  how  to  eat  them. 
Here,  too,  we  made  the  acquaintance  of  Francois’s 
interesting  family,  which  had  followed  us  up  the 
river  in  two  canoes,  and  camped  near  us.  This 
family  consisted  of  an  old  squaw,  two  middle-aged 
squaws,  and  a lot  of  children. 

The  old  squaw  we  took  to  be  his  mother,  the 
other  two  his  wives,  or  perhaps  his  wife  and  a 
visiting  friend,  and  the  children  we  classified  as 
young  Indians,  without  attempting  to  trace  their 
parentage.  We  wondered  how  they  had  managed 
to  ascend  the  river,  and  why  they  had  followed 
us,  but  could  get  no  explanation  from  Francois 
except  that  they  were  going  somewhere. 

We  learned  also  that  they  were  omnivorous,  — 
at  least,  nothing  in  our  larder  came  amiss  to  them, 
— and  realized  that  a few  days  of  their  society 
would  breed  a famine  in  the  camp.  But  after  the 
pleasures  of  the  day  we  were  too  complaisant  to 
be  easily  disturbed  by  such  reflections,  and  there- 


144 


ADDRESSES. 


fore  enjoyed  our  evening  about  the  camp-fire,  and 
then  betook  ourselves  to  our  tents  and  fragrant 
beds  of  balsam  boughs,  at  peace  with  all  the 
world. 

The  next  day  we  made  the  long  portage  to  the 
head  of  the  rapids,  carrying  light  loads  ourselves 
and  leaving  the  Indians  to  follow  with  the  canoes 
and  baggage. 

As  the  distance  was  about  two  miles,  and  sev- 
eral trips  were  required,  it  was  quite  noon  before 
the  task  was  accomplished  and  we  were  again 
afloat,  and  nearly  dark  before  we  reached  our 
camp  at  the  lower  end  of  Pine  Portage. 

Francois’s  family  had  started  before  us  in  the 
morning,  and  we  found  them  encamped  here, 
anxiously  awaiting  the  arrival  of  our  party  and 
supplies ; so  we  were  relieved  of  all  fear  lest  the 
trout  we  had  taken  en  route  should  be  wasted. 

The  next  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast,  we 
started  across  the  portage,  and,  after  walking  over 
a mile,  took  a narrow  path  diverging  to  the  right, 
and  followed  it  down  a steep  and  heavily  wooded 
hill  to  the  river  at  a point  called  Hamilton’s  Pool, 
a favorite  spot  with  those  who  fish  the  Nipigon. 

Here  the  river,  parted  by  a small  island,  plunges 
by  short  and  broken  rapids  into  a pool  several 
acres  in  extent,  near  the  centre  of  which  the  mass 
of  waters  divides  into  two  strong  currents,  — one 
setting  back  along  the  shore  to  the  entrance  of 
the  rapids,  and  the  other  sweeping  down  to  the 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


145 


outlet  in  the  rapids  below.  At  the  head  of  the 
pool  the  water  seems  to  boil  up  from  unfathom- 
able depths  and  then  rushes  and  eddies  around 
the  great  masses  of  rocks  on  the  eastern  shore. 

On  the  western  shore  the  land  slopes  down  to 
a little  meadow,  by  which  the  water  is  quiet  and 
shallow  and  the  bottom  of  smooth  sand. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  we  approached  the 
pool,  and  looking  into  the  clear  water  beheld  a 
sight  which  caused  us  to  draw  back  and  open 
our  rod-cases  with  nervous  haste.  There,  close 
under  the  shore,  were  a dozen  fine  trout,  not  one 
of  them  less  than  eighteen  inches  in  length,  and 
not  a tree  or  tall  bush  near  enough  to  interfere 
with  the  play  of  our  lines. 

We  felt  that  this  was  our  appointed  day  and 
hour,  and  each  man  jointed  his  rod  and  hastened 
to  adjust  his  line,  leader,  and  flies,  as  if  his  soul’s 
salvation  depended  on  his  getting  the  first  catch 
in  that  pool. 

It  was  terrible.  The  selfish  instinct,  which 
generally  lies  dormant  in  such  breasts  as  ours,  was 
aroused,  and  all  the  evil  passions  of  the  human 
heart  were  getting  into  action,  when  the  Sybarite, 
who  had  gotten  into  a tangle  and  fallen  behind, 
proposed  that  we  should  wait  until  all  were  ready 
and  then  cast  together.  This  was  agreed  to,  and 
so  we  waited  until  he,  noticing  that  we  had  put 
but  one  fly  on  our  leaders,  quietly  noosed  two  on 
his,  and  then  together  we  approached  the  bank  and 

10 


146 


ADDRESSES. 


made  our  cast.  Each  fly  was  taken  as  it  touched 
the  water,  and  four  fish,  securely  hooked,  darted 
out  into  the  deep  pool ; and  then  there  was  the 
sight  of  leaping  trout,  the  music  of  clicking  reels, 
and  the  strain  of  the  pliant  rods  for  nearly  half  an 
hour,  and  then  four  beauties  lying  on  the  grass, 
and  two  plain  men  and  the  Sybarite  standing 
over  them  and  feeling  that  life  is  worth  living. 

These  four  trout  were  of  nearly  uniform  size,  and 
together  weighed  over  nine  pounds. 

The  sport  so  well  begun  continued  until  we 
had  taken  eighteen  fine  trout,  weighing  in  the 
aggregate  forty-four  pounds,  and  then,  our  In- 
dians having  brought  our  baggage  over  the 
carry,  we  devoted  ourselves  to  making  camp, — 
which  we  did  with  especial  care,  as  we  had 
resolved  to  spend  some  days  at  this  attractive 
spot. 

While  we  were  thus  engaged,  Francois’s  faithful 
family  came  trooping  down  the  path  and  selected 
as  a place  of  residence  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood of  our  kitchen  and  supply  tent. 

We  felt  that  something  must  be  done;  and  that 
evening  we  invited  Francois  to  enter  our  pres- 
ence, and  proceeded  to  discuss  the  situation  with 
him.  For  a time  the  fact  that  he  understood  but 
few  words  of  the  various  languages  at  our  com- 
mand threatened  to  defeat  the  object  of  the 
meeting. 

We  tried  English,  in  short  words  with  panto- 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


147 


mime  accompaniments,  but  each  reference  to  his 
family  served  only  to  call  a proud  smile  to  his 
puzzled  face.  Then  the  Sybarite  bethought  him- 
self of  French,  which  was  supposed  to  enter  into 
the  language  of  these  natives ; but  as  he  declined, 
even  in  such  an  emergency,  to  disguise  his  pure 
Parisian  accent  and  idioms,  the  untutored  savage 
merely  drank  in  the  music  of  his  words,  without 
the  slightest  comprehension  of  his  arguments. 

German  he  seemed  to  fear,  and  Latin  quota- 
tions proved  as  ineffectual  as  all  the  rest.  And 
yet  we  succeeded.  In  many  tongues  we  told  him 
that  while  we  were  naturally  fond  of  female  soci- 
ety and  doted  on  children,  yet  we  had  come  to 
this  remote  wilderness  to  see  if  we  could  live 
without  such  luxuries,  and  did  not  wish  to  have 
our  experience  interfered  with;  that  it  gave  us, 
as  mere  humanitarians,  exquisite  pleasure  to  see 
his  dear  ones  so  happy  with  our  provisions,  but 
that  while  we  did  n’t  mind  going  hungry  for  a few 
weeks,  we  felt  that  we  owed  it  to  our  own  dependent 
families  not  to  starve  beyond  a certain  point  on 
this  pleasure-trip.  And  then,  having  thus  fully 
explained  our  motives,  we  executed  certain  ma- 
noeuvres in  the  direction  of  his  flock  which  evi- 
dently convinced  him  of  our  unsocial  desires;  for 
the  next  morning  the  women  and  children  had 
disappeared,  and  certain  of  our  edibles  were  said 
to  have  been  taken  by  wild  beasts. 

At  this  camp  we  spent  a week,  fishing  in  the 


148 


ADDRESSES. 


morning  and  evening,  and  reading  novels,  talk- 
ing trout,  and  taking  naps  in  the  middle  of  the 
day. 

The  sport  continued  to  be  excellent;  and  we 
found  it  necessary,  in  order  to  prevent  the  taking 
of  more  trout  than  we  could  use,  to  limit  the 
hours  of  fishing  and  to  release  all  trout  appearing 
to  be  under  two  pounds  in  weight. 

Here  is  the  record,  as  I find  it  in  my  notes,  of 
my  own  experiences,  on  the  third  day  of  our  stay 
at  this  pool.  I read  it,  not  in  a vainglorious 
spirit,  but  because  it  serves  to  give  some  idea  of 
the  sport  at  this  place,  and  especially  because  it 
supplies  the  description  of  a fight  between  a trout 
and  a fly-rod  which  no  such  narrative  should  be 
without. 

The  next  morning  I arose  early,  and,  leaving 
my  companions  asleep,  took  two  of  the  guides 
with  a canoe  and  went  across  the  pool  to  try  the 
early  fishing  by  the  other  shore.  I found  the 
trout  eager,  and  returned  to  camp  before  break- 
fast with  a string  of  nine,  averaging  about  two 
pounds.  After  breakfast  we  all  fished,  and  at 
noon  my  catch  had  increased  to  twenty-five,  and 
I felt  constrained  to  stop  for  the  day. 

The  others  went  out  again,  and  I lounged  in 
the  tent  with  a novel ; but  I found  the  book  not 
half  so  fascinating  as  the  broad  pool  in  front  of 
me,  on  the  further  side  of  which  I could  see  the 
Sybarite  standing  with  bent  rod  and  taut  line  try- 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


149 


ing  the  mettle  of  some  brave  captive  in  the  depths 
below;  and  finally,  under  pretext  of  trying  a 
new  fly  of  extraordinary  hues  which  I had  con- 
structed, and  feeling  that  I should  be  excusable 
in  killing  any  fish  that  could  be  deceived  by  such 
a patent  fraud,  I took  my  rod  and  strolled  alone, 
with  my  pipe  and  book,  down  the  shore.  Just 
below  our  camp  was  a large  rock  standing  well 
out  from  the  shore  in  the  heavy  current,  and,  mak- 
ing my  way  to  this,  I tried  a few  casts,  but  without 
getting  a rise;  so  I lit  my  pipe,  and,  stretching 
myself  on  the  rock,  devoted  myself  alternately  to 
reading  my  book  and  watching  my  friends  in  the 
canoes.  Soon,  however,  I noticed  the  trout  leap- 
ing, and  determined  to  try  again ; and  for  some 
reason,  perhaps  for  the  purpose  of  trying  my  new 
fly  in  competition  with  the  standard  article, 
noosed  a brown  hackle  in  the  leader  above,  and 
made  a cast  with  the  two  flies. 

As  they  settled  lightly  on  the  water,  I saw  the 
quick  flash  of  leaping  trout,  and  the  next  instant 
my  reel  fairly  screamed,  as  the  startled  game 
rushed  down  the  stream. 

I could  not  tell  whether  I had  hooked  one  fish 
or  two,  but  I knew  that  I had  never  seen  so 
strong  a run  as  that.  I tried  cautiously  to  check 
it;  but  there  was  too  much  life  and  strength  at 
the  end  of  my  line,  and  the  slender  silk  flew 
through  the  rings  until  I had  but  a single  layer 
on  the  reel  and  the  fish  had  almost  reached  the 


ADDRESSES. 


150 

rapids  below,  in  which  such  tackle  could  not  have 
held  for  a moment.  Now  for  the  test  of  my  little 
rod.  I checked  the  line,  and  the  slender  bamboo 
took  the  strain  and  bent  under  it  until  it  seemed 
that  it  must  fly  in  pieces,  but  it  held ; and  with 
struggles  that  sent  a quiver  through  rod  and  arm 
clear  to  my  shoulder,  the  gallant  fish  rose  slowly 
to  the  surface  just  above  the  rapids,  and,  hanging 
there  a moment,  yielded  to  the  rod  and  came 
slowly  back. 

I thought  this  furious  run  had  exhausted  the 
game,  and  reeled  in  with  confidence;  but  after 
coming  about  fifty  feet  in  a sullen,  reluctant  way, 
the  trout  made  another  rush,  apparently  as  fresh 
as  ever,  but  this  time  across  the  current.  Again 
the  rod  won,  and  I received  my  line  only  to  meet 
another  run;  and  so  the  fight  went  on.  In  half 
an  hour  from  the  time  I struck,  one  of  the  guides 
came  down  from  the  camp  with  a landing  net,  and 
I got  in  line  enough  to  see  that  I had  two  fish, 
one  well  spent,  but  the  other  still  strong,  and  it 
. was  some  time  longer  before  they  could  be  safely 
brought  to  net.  They  weighed  three  pounds  and 
two  and  one  half  pounds  respectively,  and  were  as 
fine  and  vigorous  trout  as  I ever  saw. 

I then  returned  to  the  camp  content  to  stop ; 
my  catch  for  the  day  being  twenty-seven  fish, 
weighing  over  sixty-two  pounds. 

Here  we  had  a call  from  two  gentlemen  from 
Massachusetts  who  were  going  down  the  river. 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON.  1 5 I 

They  reported  the  fishing  good  at  several  points 
above,  and  the  trout  larger  than  in  this  pool. 

These  were  the  only  white  men  we  saw  on  the 
river,  and  we  gladly  entertained  them  with  the 
best  our  camp  afforded,  and  on  their  departure 
sent  letters  to  be  mailed  by  them  in  the  States. 

It  was  at  this  camp  that  the  Nipigon  mosquito, 
which  had  been  enamoured  of  our  persons  ever 
since  we  reached  the  river,  fairly  outdid  himself 
in  acts  of  devotion,  and  impressed  himself  indeli- 
bly on  our  memories.  He  is  a bird  resembling 
the  curlew  in  general  appearance  and  bony  struc- 
ture, having  a morbid  thirst  for  blood  and  the 
en tree  of  every  man.  He  is  believed  to  be  strictly 
carnivorous,  and  lives  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  The 
only  thing  that  checks  his  appetite  for  the  human 
countenance  is  a thick  coating  of  tar  and  oil ; and 
the  only  objection  to  the  tar  and  oil  is  that  the 
odor  clings  to  a man  even  unto  the  third  and 
fourth  generation. 

After  a week  at  this  spot  we  broke  camp  and 
started  up  the  river,  intending  to  follow  it  to  its 
source  in  Lake  Nipigon,  and  hoping  to  find  the 
traditional  five-pounder  without  which  we  felt  that 
we  could  never  return  to  our  homes. 

We  found  the  river  narrower,  and  the  rapids 
more  frequent  and  difficult,  but  made  good  pro- 
gress, and  early  in  the  afternoon  camped  about  a 
mile  below  the  Grand  Chute  at  the  head  of  the 


river. 


152 


ADDRESSES. 


Here  we  spent  some  days,  making  short  excur- 
sions in  our  canoes  to  the  rapids  below  and  to  the 
falls  at  Lake  Nipigon,  and  seldom  failing  of  good 
sport.  On  the  occasion  of  our  first  visit  to  the 
falls,  the  Sybarite  took  a fine  trout  weighing  five 
and  one  half  pounds  and  measuring  twenty-two 
and  one  half  inches  in  length ; and  each  day  trout 
of  four  to  five  pounds  were  taken. 

One  day  we  carried  a canoe  around  the  falls  and 
paddled  about  among  the  islands  at  the  lower  end 
of  Lake  Nipigon.  This  lake,  which  appears  on  the 
map  as  a mere  dot,  is  about  ninety  miles  long  and 
sixty  miles  wide,  and  its  outlet,  the  Nipigon  River, 
is  about  thirty-five  miles  long,  and  is  said  to  have 
a fall  of  three  hundred  and  twenty-seven  feet  in 
this  distance. 

Our  trip  down  the  river  was  easily  made.  The 
paddles  of  our  savage  guides,  aided  by  the  swift 
current,  bore  us  rapidly  along,  and  in  several 
places  we  shot  the  rapids,  which  in  ascending  the 
river  we  had  carried  around. 

In  this  there  was  great  excitement.  The  watch- 
ful guides,  firmly  braced  at  either  end  of  the 
canoes,  with  paddles  poised  for  the  quick,  sure 
stroke  that  was  needed  from  time  to  time  to  guide 
the  frail  boat  past  hidden  rocks,  and  hoarsely 
shouting  to  each  other  above  the  noise  of  plung- 
ing waters ; the  passing  of  the  canoe ; the  dash- 
ing spray,  — these  things  it  is  easy  and  pleasant 
to  recall. 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


153 


Had  it  not  been  for  our  perfect  confidence  in 
the  skill  of  our  boatmen,  we  should  have  felt  that 
to  shoot  these  rapids  was  about  as  dangerous  as 
to  shoot  ourselves. 

Having  ample  time  to  reach  Red  Rock  before 
the  steamboat  which  was  to  take  us  could  arrive, 
we  stopped  from  time  to  time  at  the  pools  and 
rapids  and  easily  kept  up  our  supply  of  trout. 

One  of  these  occasions  I recall  with  mingled 
feelings  of  pride  and  shame. 

At  one  of  the  portages,  while  the  guides  were 
engaged  in  transporting  the  boats  and  baggage, 
I left  the  party,  and  going  to  a little  pool  below 
the  rapids  made  a few  casts  and  soon  succeeded 
in  landing  a fine  trout,  twenty-three  inches  long. 
I weighed  him  carefully,  at  once,  for  a fish 
loses  weight  in  drying,  and  ought  to  be  weighed 
promptly. 

I was  alone.  No  human  eye  but  mine  saw  the 
figures  on  the  steelyard.  Then,  as  I walked  back 
to  my  friends,  knowing  that  they  would  admire 
my  trout  and  immediately  demand  his  weight, 
and  feeling  reasonably  certain  that  they  would 
take  any  statement  as  conclusive  on  that  point, 
I was  sorely  tempted.  I reflected  that,  ever  since 
the  episode  of  Jonah  and  his  whale,  strict  accu- 
racy had  never  been  required  of  our  race  in  fish 
stories,  and  that  the  best  of  men,  even  clergymen 
and  presidents  of  literary  clubs,  had  cultivated 
the  habit  of  embellishing  such  narratives  without 


154 


ADDRESSES. 


impairing  their  general  reputation  for  veracity. 
I recalled  a conversation  with  a certain  distin- 
guished member  of  this  club,  and  how  he  told 
me  that  on  the  Matapedia  he  had  hooked  a fifty 
pound  salmon  through  the  left  ear-lobe,  and 
killed  him  after  a thrilling  contest  of  nineteen 
hours  and  seven  minutes,  and  how,  when  I ven- 
tured to  suggest  that  salmon  were  not  ordinarily 
equipped  with  ear-lobes,  he  assured  me  that  that 
was  the  curious  thing  about  it,  — that  this  was 
the  only  salmon  ever  seen  with  such  appendages ; 
and  how  I then  gave  it  up ; and  I reflected  that, 
notwithstanding  such  lapses  from  the  straight  and 
narrow  path,  this  gentleman’s  word  was  com- 
monly accepted  when  he  spoke  of  the  weather, 
or  mentioned  how  he  felt,  or  said  what  he  would 
take,  or  in  any  of  the  ordinary  concerns  of  life. 
I knew  it  was  an  axiom  in  anthropology  that  no 
man  ever  caught  a big  fish  and  told  the  exact 
truth  about  it,  and  I shrank  from  posing  as  a 
freak ; and  so  by  the  time  I rejoined  my  friends, 
the  question  of  conscience  was  settled,  and  so  I 
said  the  trout  weighed  just  five  pounds.  I have 
repeated  this  statement  at  intervals  for  more  than 
ten  years,  and  all  the  time  I have  known  that  it 
was  false.  This  will  surprise  you.  I do  not  at- 
tempt to  account  for  it;  but  being  resolved  no 
longer  to  bear  about  the  heavy  secret  of  this  my 
first  and  only  lie,  I simply  confess  it,  and  take 
this  occasion  publicly  to  declare  that  the  exact 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


155 


weight  of  that  trout  was  not  five  pounds,  as  I 
have  heretofore  insisted,  but  just  five  pounds  and 
a half.  This,  however,  is  the  only  case  in  which 
I ever  suppressed  the  truth  about  a fish  to  the 
extent  of  half  a pound,  though  I always  aim  to 
be  a little  under-true. 

We  reached  Red  Rock  in  good  season  for  the 
boat,  and  after  paying  off  our  guides  and  dis- 
tributing the  remnants  of  our  commissary  stores, 
took  leave  of  the  river,  and  finally  reached  Chicago 
after  an  absence  of  just  a month,  well  satisfied 
with  our  outing  and  firmly  resolved  to  repeat  the 
trip  another  season. 

Year  after  year  we  made  our  plans  only  to  see 
them  “ gang  agley ; ” but  at  last,  seven  years 
later,  the  Fates  were  propitious,  and  the  Sybarite 
and  I,  having  induced  two  other  members  of  this 
Club  to  accompany  us,  revisited  the  river, — 
going  this  time  by  rail  to  Duluth,  and  thence  by 
boat  to  Port  Arthur,  and  thence,  by  the  Canadian 
Pacific,  to  Red  Rock.  But  the  place  was  sadly 
changed. 

Near  the  old  post  was  a railway  station  with  a 
telegraph  office.  Over  the  rapids  just  above  was 
a great  railway  bridge.  There  were  gangs  of 
laborers  at  work  along  the  track,  and  shanties 
near  by,  and  the  whole  place  seemed  to  suffer 
from  the  first  rude  touch  of  civilization. 

We  secured  our  guide  and  boat,  and  lost  no 
time  in  starting  up  the  river;  and,  once  away 


i$6 


ADDRESSES. 


from  the  railroad  and  out  of  the  white  man’s 
world,  the  old  charm  was  upon  us,  and  again  we 
knew  the  happiness  of  cloudless,  careless  days 
and  dreamless  nights. 

Suffice  it  to  say  of  this  second  trip  that  while 
good  fellowship  and  rare  weather  and  fair  sport 
made  it  most  delightful,  yet  in  some  respects  the 
conditions  were  less  favorable  than  before.  The 
railroad  had  made  the  river  more  accessible,  and 
increased  the  number  of  visitors,  not  all  of  whom 
were  true  sportsmen. 

We  met  one  or  two  parties  that  seemed  to 
have  bought  their  supplies  by  the  gallon  only, 
and  whose  conception  of  a fishing  trip  was  one 
long  cheerful  effort  to  slake  the  unslakable. 

The  river  was  unusually  high,  and  at  pools 
where  before  we  had  found  abundant  sport  the 
trout  would  hardly  take  the  fly.  On  the  rapids, 
however,  we  succeeded  better ; and  although  the 
record  of  our  catch  on  this  trip  is  less  in  point  of 
numbers,  it  shows  larger  trout  and  higher  average 
weight  than  on  the  former  visit.  I find  that  we 
took  seven  trout  of  over  five  pounds,  — the  largest 
weighing  six  and  a fourth  and  six  and  a half 
pounds  respectively,  — and  to  avert  temptation 
from  the  other  members  of  the  party  I will  admit 
that  I took  the  largest  one  myself,  and  that  on 
this  occasion  I have  given  the  full  weight.  One 
morning  two  of  the  party  brought  in  a string  of 
five  trout  weighing  in  the  aggregate  twenty-three 


A TRIP  TO  THE  NIPIGON. 


157 


pounds.  I give  the  weight  as  reported  by  these 
gentlemen,  and  believe  it  to  be  correct;  for  this 
was  a rare  occasion — and  these  gentlemen  tell 
the  truth  on  rare  occasions. 

This  is  a record  which  probably  few  Chicago 
sportsmen  have  surpassed.  Mr.  Mason,  in  his 
‘‘History  of  the  Original  Town  and  Kinsie’s 
Addition,”  speaks  of  the  great  trout  which  Mar- 
quette took  in  the  rapids  of  the  Chicago  River ; 
but  there  are  those  who  dispute  the  trout  and 
some  who  doubt  the  rapids. 


THE  BELL(E)S  OF  YALE. 


Delivered  at  the  Second  Annual  Banquet  of  the 
Chicago  Yale  Association  in  December,  1868,  in 
Response  to  the  Toast  of  “ The  Bell(e)s  of 
Yale.” 


(“  Sweet  Evening  Bells.”) 


‘HE  toast  evidently  bears  some  distant  refer- 


J-  ence  to  lovely  women.  But  it  is  now  getting 
late,  and  for  brevity’s  sake  I shall  consider  but  a 
portion  of  the  ladies  of  New  Haven  under  this  title, 
and  for  the  same  reason  spare  that  profane  com- 
mittee-man who  buttered  my  toast  with  a pun, 
leaving  a possible  doubt  of  my  real  subject. 

“ The  Bell(e)s  of  Yale,  — Sweet  Evening 
Bells.”  We  all  remember  them;  and,  fortu- 
nately, most  of  us  remember  the  same  ones. 
For  though  time  tells  upon  all  things,  it  tells  very 
slowly  upon  some ; and  there  are  now  some  fair 
ones  connected  with  the  college,  still  apparently 
in  the  prime  of  life,  still  endowed  with  the  same 
gushing  affections  and  the  same  guileless  belief 
in  man,  who  have,  to  say  the  least,  acquired  an 
easement  in  the  admiration  of  Yale  men.  It  is 
they  who  are  gracious  to  Freshmen  in  memory  of 


THE  BELL(E)S  OF  YALE . 


159 


their  fathers  before  them,  and  engaged  to  Juniors 
from  force  of  habit. 

Mr.  President,  I would  not  for  one  moment 
— not  by  one  word  — assail  the  fair  fame  of  these 
budding  flowerets,  these  perpetual  roses,  that 
skirt  the  path  of  learning  to  light  it  with  their 
wayside  bloom.  I have  too  profound  an  admira- 
tion for  their  achievements  and  their  chronic 
loveliness ; too  respectful  a deference  to  the  sor- 
rows of  their  annual  widowhood;  too  careful  a 
regard  for  that  bald  head  between  us,  reflecting 
the  chandelier  like  a mirror,  whose  raven  locks 
may  once  have  known  the  gentle  dalliance  of 
their  fair  fingers.  Rather,  sir,  they  are  entitled 
to  the  largest  measure  of  our  gratitude  to-night; 
for  they  give  half  the  charm  to  the  recollections 
of  our  college  days.  There,  in  memory,  are  the 
same  old  walls,  each  the  palimpsest  rewritten 
with  the  histories  of  succeeding  generations ; 
the  same  old  elms  above  them,  still  painting  their 
shadow  pictures  on  the  walls ; the  same  old  bell 
that  used  to  call  us  to  the  routine  duties  of  the 
day;  and  the  same  old  belles  who  used  to  sum- 
mon us  to  the  pastimes  of  the  evening.  They 
lived  for  a brief  season  in  our  affections,  sur- 
vived a corresponding  period  in  belles-lettres , and 
then,  for  us,  passed  into  memory.  But  doubtless, 
like  Webster,  they  “ still  live,”  and,  like  Tenny- 
son’s New  Year  Bells,  continue  to  “ ring  out  the 
old,  ring  in  the  new.” 


i6o 


ADDRESSES. 


But  though,  out  of  my  veneration,  and  because 
of  their  distinctive  title  to  the  name,  I have 
spoken  of  these  first  as  the  “ Belles  of  Yale,” 
there  are  others  to  be  remembered.  To  an  eye 
observant  of  the  developments  of  nature  and  the 
effects  of  art,  each  year  is  fraught  with  some  new 
belles ; and  perhaps  it  may  have  been  your 
happiness  to  discover  one  of  these,  — possibly 
immured  within  the  walls  of  that  Elm  Street 
“ Nunnery  ” you  all  remember,  or  in  other  of  the 
boarding-schools.  Ah ! my  venerable  brothers, 
has  it  never  been  your  fortune,  after  having  over- 
come all  the  obstacles  of  rules  and  regulations 
and  established  the  necessary  relationship,  while 
seated  within  those  sacred  parlors,  close  by  the 
object  of  your  adoration,  enjoying  the  delicious 
throes  of  ecstatic  bliss,  to  have  the  presiding  genius 
of  the  place  appear  before  you  in  bodily  presence 
and,  with  all  the  cold  sublimity  of  an  iceberg, — 
or  an  oyster,  — proceed  to  disorganize  things? 
Such  things  are  common.  Such  things  give  a 
zest  to  the  pursuit  of  learning.  Or,  possibly,  the 
longings  of  your  nature  for  feminine  perfection 
were  not  satisfied  by  these  formative  divinities, 
with  all  their  cultured  emotions  and  accomplished 
feelings.  Perhaps  not  within  the  broad  confines 
of  fair  New  Haven,  but  rather  within  the  classic 
precincts  and  among  the  untrammeled  beauties 
of  Fair  Haven  was  the  paragon  discovered.  Such 
things  have  happened,  and  such  happenings  have 


THE  BELL{E)S  OF  YALE. 


161 


given  birth  to  surprising  results.  I will  here 
mention,  for  the  aggravation  of  our  older  friends 
present,  that  a horse  railway  now  connects  the 
two  cities,  which  lessens  very  materially  the  labor 
of  loving  an  oyster-maid. 

But,  jesting  aside,  although  there  are  some 
ludicrous  reminiscences  which  the  toast  has 
sprung  upon  us,  there  is  still  occasion  for  a single 
word  of  serious  sentiment.  It  is  not  possible  that 
all  of  us  have  passed  from  matriculation  to  Com- 
mencement, enjoying  the  full  advantages  of  our 
position,  with  our  affections  and  social  instincts 
enlisted  and  quickened  by  the  sympathy  of 
chosen  friends,  and  our  appreciation  of  the  noble 
and  beautiful  in  aesthetics  and  humanity  alike  de- 
veloped by  the  process  of  our  course,  without 
some  pleasant  recollections  to-night  from  a source 
outside  the  college  walls.  It  is  neither  extrava- 
gance nor  vapid  sentiment  if  I imagine  that  in 
some  of  you  to-night  the  call  of  my  toast  has 
awakened  recollections  that  have  slumbered  for 
years,  — has  recalled  a fair  face  almost  forgotten 
till  now  in  the  exigencies  of  our  later  years  ; the 
echoes  of  once  familiar  tones  long  silent  amid  the 
voices  that  fill  our  ears ; the  vision  of  a girlish 
form  almost  obliterated  by  the  nearer  presence  of 
those  who  make  our  homes  and  our  social  circles 
now ; and  you  start  to  find  how  little  is  forgotten. 
Her  sympathy,  her  friendship,  or  her  love,  it  may 
be,  struck  deeper  than  you  knew,  and  she  stands 


ii 


ADDRESSES. 


162 

forth  so  clearly  in  the  retrospect  to-night,  — not  as 
she  may  be  now,  the  low-voiced  matron  of 
some  home,  but  as  then,  the  bright  vision  of 
an  old-time  hope,  — that  it  seems  to  each  as  if  the 
response  must  be  made  for  her  alone.  And  so, 
in  brief,  it  is  given.  We  Ve  touched  our  glasses 
to-night  in  honor  of  the  girl  whose  face  you  saw 
in  yours ; whose  tones  you  still  remember  in  the 
words  of  kindly  sympathy  and  timid  praise  that 
were  more  to  you  than  you  ever  dreamed  ; in 
whose  deep  eyes  you  looked  for  inspiration  once ; 
from  whose  pure  lips  you  took  the  sacrament  of 
youth’s  religion. 


OUR  CLIENTS. 


Delivered  at  the  Chicago  Bar  Association  Banquet, 
on  December  28,  1876,  in  response  to  the  Toast  of 
“Our  Clients.” 

IT  is  certainly  fitting  that  upon  an  occasion 
when  lawyers  assemble  to  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  there  should  be  some  remembrance  of  the 
clients.  But  just  why  it  has  fallen  to  me  to  speak 
to  this  toast  I can  hardly  say,  unless  possibly 
your  Committee  considered  that  my  limited 
knowledge  of  the  subject  would  assure  the  brevity 
of  my  remarks.  They  forgot,  perhaps,  how  hard 
it  is  to  be  short  to  a client — especially  if  he 
belong  to  us. 

I suppose  that  ever  since  God  called  upon 
Adam,  according  to  that  respectable  old  story, 
to  plead  to  the  first  indictment,  by  asking  him 
“ Hast  thou  eaten  of  the  tree?  ” every  nation  has 
provided  a forum  of  some  sort  for  the  settlement 
of  human  controversies  and  the  punishment  of 
crime.  But  just  when  the  necessity  of  a vicari- 
ous appearance  at  the  bar  called  the  first  law- 
yer and  the  first  client  into  existence  is  a matter 
of  deep  obscurity.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that 
the  order  of  clients  is  an  old  one,  and  has  brought 


ADDRESSES. 


164 

down  with  it  from  antiquity  the  sympathy  of  the 
world ; for  Luke  says,  “ Woe  unto  you,  also,  ye 
lawyers ! for  ye  lade  men  with  burdens  grievous 
to  be  borne.”  And  to-day  a man  expects  the 
same  commiseration  of  his  friends  whether  he 
submit  himself  to  a lawyer  or  a surgeon. 

Clients,  however,  have  little  sense  of  justice. 
They  cannot  even  find  out  what  it  is  without  the 
aid  of  counsel,  and  half  the  time  fail  to  recognize 
it  when  found  and  paid  for.  So  we  can  perhaps 
afford  to  give  them  their  conclusions  and  take  a 
kindly  interest  in  them.  They  should  remember 
that  in  the  Augustan  Age  the  client  was  an  inferior 
being  dependent  upon  a patrician  patron,  — a 
sort  of  hereditary  property,  bound  to  contribute 
to  his  patron’s  support,  to  fight  for  him  in  war, 
and  to  vote  for  him.  Alas ! what  a change  has 
been  wrought.  They  may  have  borne  burdens 
in  Luke’s  day,  but  they  have  a great  many  privi- 
leges now. 

To  the  popular  mind  the  most  obvious  relation 
between  lawyer  and  client  is  the  pecuniary  one ; 
and  of  course  there  is  such  a relation,  and  it  has 
its  importance.  As  the  clergyman  devotes  him- 
self to  a life  of  faith  and  pew-rents,  and  the  phy- 
sician weds  Science  for  the  love  of  her  and 
the  dowry  she  brings,  so  we  have  robed  our- 
selves as  ministers  in  the  Temple  of  Justice  with 
an  eye  to  the  gate-money  of  the  pilgrims.  Our 
clients  are  right  in  supposing  that  we  have  this 


OUR  CLIENTS. 


165 

interest  in  them  ; and  they  are  at  liberty  to  mag- 
nify it  as  much  as  they  please,  and  as  soon  as 
they  please  to  convert  it  from  a mere  expectancy 
into  an  estate  in  fee. 

There  is  an  old  English  theory  that  the  advo- 
cate serves  his  client  for  love  of  justice  and  not 
for  pay,  — though  he  takes  a sufficient  present  in 
advance,  which,  like  attorneys’  fees  paid  to  mem- 
bers of  Congress,  has  some  remote  connection  with 
the  service  to  be  rendered,  — and  I am  sorry  to  say 
that  some  of  our  clients  seem  to  cling  to  this  old 
English  idea  rather  more  tenaciously  than  we  do. 

It 's  a great  mistake.  A lawyer  is  not  a “ casus 
omissus  ” in  the  law  of  compensation.  He  gives 
lore ; he  demands  hire.  If  properly  encouraged 
in  the  customary  way,  he  can  do  almost  anything. 
He  can  vindicate  the  integrity  of  a thief.  He  can 
“ go  to  the  country  ” without  leaving  the  court- 
room. He  can  reach  the  feelings  of  a common- 
law  judge  or  wake  the  dormant  faculties  of  a 
jury.  He  fears  no  obstacle,  from  a receipt  in  full 
to  the  rule  in  Shelley’s  case ; but  he  is  invariably 
paralyzed  by  an  “ estoppel  in  pais.” 

I shall  not  attempt,  Mr.  President,  to  classify 
our  clients.  I would  as  soon  undertake  to  clas- 
sify the  defences  under  the  General  Issue,  or  the 
Authorities  on  Negligence.  But  there  is  infinite 
variety.  My  brother  Withrow’s  pet  client,  for 
instance,  is  a corporation.  Now  he  may  be  able 
to  preserve  his  rectitude  in  dealing  with  a thing  all 


ADDRESSES. 


1 66 

pocket  and  no  soul ; but  I don’t  believe  I ’m  honest 
enough  to  do  just  right  by  a client  that  I can’t 
have  the  slightest  apprehension  of  meeting  in 
either  department  of  the  next  world,  after  all  that 
is  hidden  shall  be  made  known.  This  is  one  of 
the  reasons  why  I have  refrained  from  being 
invited  to  represent  railroads.  And  the  other 
day  in  the  Federal  Court  I saw  one  of  our  breth- 
ren engaged  in  defending  fifty  barrels  of  high 
wines ; but  whether  he  was  actuated  more  by  the 
prevalent  desire  to  reform  the  Government  or  by 
love  of  his  client,  I cannot  say.  And,  by  the  way, 
the  fact  that  the  Government,  whenever  it  would 
take  a little  whiskey  or  tobacco,  is  compelled  to 
submit  the  matter  to  a temperance  judge  and  a 
jury  of  the  good  and  true,  ought  to  reconcile  us 
to  our  lot  as  mere  individuals. 

Then  there  is  the  ministerial  client,  who  is  con- 
cerned about  treasures  in  the  wrong  world,  and 
invariably  declines  to  profane  his  pulpit  ethics  by 
bringing  it  into  business  controversies;  and  the 
female  client,  with  her  many  grievances,  for  which, 
we  tell  her  with  deep  emotion,  there  ought  to  be 
some  remedy,  but  is  n’t;  and  the  eccentric  client. 
I well  remember  the  first  client  I ever  had  was  of 
this  class.  He  gave  me  a small  note  to  collect. 
At  that  time,  I believe,  I realized  fully  and  liter- 
ally Lord  Brougham’s  idea  of  the  advocate.  In 
the  performance  of  my  duty  I knew  that  one 
client  and  none  other;  and,  as  Dr.  Johnson  says 


OUR  CLIENTS . 


1 67 


a lawyer  should,  I did  the  best  I could  for  him, 
and  gave  my  attention  to  that  case.  I prepared 
a careful  brief  to  prove  that  assumpsit  would  lie, 
and  then  brought  suit  and  declared  on  that  note 
till  you  could  n’t  find  a variance  with  a microscope. 
I hoped  for  success;  but  to  my  anxious  mind  the 
action  was  as  purely  speculative  as  the  selection 
of  a mother-in-law.  Finally,  by  the  ingenious 
device  of  taking  default  for  want  of  a plea  and 
swearing  to  a masterly  computation  of  interest,  I 
obtained  judgment,  which  the  defendant  soon 
paid.  Some  time  afterward  I presented  a modest 
bill  to  my  client,  and  to  my  great  surprise  he 
insisted  on  doubling  it;  and,  being  a large  and 
decided  man,  he  succeeded  in  accomplishing 
his  purpose.  Judging  from  my  uniform  experi- 
ence in  my  one  case,  I then  supposed  this  was  a 
common  custom  with  clients,  and  a thing  likely 
to  occur  frequently.  That  was  one  of  the  errors 
of  youth. 

Then  there  is  that  unfortunate  client  who  is 
periodically  sacrificed  by  his  attorney.  I know 
a man  who  has  been  pretty  uniformly  unsuccess- 
ful in  his  cases,  and  explains  how  in  each  case  he 
was  “ sold  out  ” by  his  lawyer.  I don’t  blame 
him  so  much  for  being  sold  out,  but  I do  object 
to  his  betraying  professional  secrets  in  this  way. 

And  we  all  know  that  wily  and  pestilent  client 
whose  pride  of  intellect  fills  him  with  a noble 
ambition  to  outwit  his  lawyer,  and  get  his  law  for 


1 68 


ADDRESSES. 


nothing.  When  I think  of  that  man,  I feel  there 
must  be  a sub-cellar  in  Hades. 

And  sometimes,  Mr.  President,  there  comes  to 
our  offices  — and  often,  as  I know,  to  yours,  sir, 
— another  client:  some  poor  man,  it  may  be, 
half  starving  for  the  want  of  the  unpaid  wages  of 
his  hard  labor;  or,  perhaps,  some  ignorant, 
helpless  widow,  who  has  nothing  in  the  world 
but  a mean  little  home,  where  she  is  struggling  in 
squalid  poverty  to  keep  her  little  ones  together; 
and  she  must  appeal  to  the  law  to  save  her  even 
this.  Some  one  has  told  her  that  you  are  good 
and  wise,  and  she  comes  and  asks  for  advice  or 
assistance  just  as  she  might  come  to  your  door 
and  beg  for  bread ; and  she  gets  it,  and  pays  you 
with  tears  and  prayers.  Well,  you  have  given  to 
her  hours  that  might  have  been  coined  into  dol- 
lars. But  you  have  laid  away  forever,  in  that 
yesterday  that  even  God  can’t  change,  something 
that  shall  be  riches  to  you  hereafter,  — a deed 
done  not  for  Mammon,  but  because  of  the  God 
within  you.  And  so  long  as  your  heart  shall  be 
open  to  the  sense  of  human  kinship,  you  will 
sometimes  be  glad  to  put  aside  the  consciousness 
of  honors  and  plenty  won  for  yourself,  and  turn 
to  the  sweet  assurance  that  in  that  poor  charity 
client’s  miserable  home,  hunger  and  cold  pinch 
not  quite  so  sharply,  and  sad  hearts  are  a little 
lighter,  because  of  your  hand  stretched  out  in  the 
name  of  humanity. 


THE  KING’S  ENGLISH. 


Delivered  at  the  Chicago  Bar  Association  Banquet  on 
January  io,  1888,  in  Response  to  the  Toast  of  “The 
King’s  English.” 

Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen,  — Your 
Committee  having  declined  to  assume  any  re- 
sponsibility for  what  I might  do  this  evening,  I 
have  been  left  to  select  my  own  topic ; and  I 
have  chosen  one  which  attracted  me  especially 
by  its  apparent  elasticity.  I propose  to  devote 
the  few  short  hours  which  we  may  call  our  own, 
before  this  room  will  be  required  by  the  family 
for  breakfast,  to  the  consideration  of  a certain 
subject  which,  if  not  amusing,  may  perhaps  be 
found  instructive.  But  before  taking  up  the 
more  abstruse  matters  which  I have  in  my  mind, 
let  me  say  a few  words  suggested  by  the  admi- 
rable response  made  by  Mr.  Justice  Magruder  to 
the  toast  of  the  Supreme  Court.  I think  we 
have  all  known  for  years  past  that  this  Court 
was  doing  its  work  under  great  difficulties,  occa- 
sioned by  the  division  of  the  State  into  three 
grand  divisions ; but  I doubt  if  we  have  ever 
until  to-night  realized  the  full  extent  of  its  em- 
barrassment, and  of  the  burden  put  upon  the 


170 


ADDRESSES. 


community  by  the  present  system.  I regret  ex- 
ceedingly to  learn  from  the  last  speaker  that  the 
obstacles  to  consolidation  are  such  as  neither  the 
Court,  the  Legislature,  nor  the  people  at  large 
can  remove ; but  sooner  or  later  the  consolidation 
must  be  made,  and  I hope  that  some  one  will 
take  enough  interest  in  the  matter  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Yerkes  about  it  at  once.  I perceive  that 
many  of  you  are  judges  and  the  rest  all  leaders 
of  the  Bar;  and  so  in  addressing  myself  to  the 
toast,  I shall  boldly  assume  that  you  have  all 
heard  of  the  common  law  of  England,  and  of 
the  manner  in  which  we  stole  it  from  good  King 
George  more  than  a hundred  years  ago.  At  the 
same  time  we  appropriated  also  the  King’s  Eng- 
lish ; by  which  term  I mean  more  especially  that 
curious  mixture  of  Latin  and  Saxon  which  by 
many  generations  of  men,  and  with  infinite  pains, 
had  been  fashioned  into  the  accepted  phraseology 
of  the  law;  and  ever  since  then  we  lawyers  have 
gone  on  selling  the  King’s  Law  in  the  King’s 
English,  — old  wine  in  old  bottles,  — and  some- 
times, it  is  said,  we  have  sold  more  bottle  than 
the  wine  actually  required.  I know  of  nothing  in 
this  radical  age  quite  so  conservative  as  the  law- 
yer’s adherence  to  the  antiquated  verbiage  of  the 
law,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  is  largely  non- 
essential. 

In  former  times,  when  a man’s  life,  or  the  title 
to  his  property,  might  depend  upon  the  spelling 


THE  KING'S  ENGLISH.  171 

of  a Latin  word,  it  was  well  to  be  cautious, 
and  hardly  possible  to  be  too  particular  even 
with  much  repetition  ; but  to-day  a man  may 
convey  his  land  by  a few  simple  written  words, 
and  a lawyer  may  file  a wrapper  in  court  and 
amend  it  to  suit  his  case ; and  yet  we  go  on  com- 
pelling our  clients  to  grant,  bargain,  sell,  alien, 
remise,  release,  convey,  and  confirm  their  several 
pieces  and  parcels  of  land,  with  all  the  tenements, 
hereditaments,  and  appurtenances,  rents,  issues, 
and  profits  thereof,  by  formal  documents  with 
elaborate  declarations  and  complicated  covenants, 
and  apparently  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  im- 
press the  ordinary  mortal  with  the  learning  of 
our  craft.  So,  if  a client  desires  to  bring  suit 
upon  a contract,  we  first  set  up  the  contract  in 
substance,  then  substantially,  with  a change  of 
punctuation,  then  in  hcec  verba , and  conclude 
with  the  common  counts,  just  as  if  we  did  n't 
know  what  the  contract  was  or  whether  we  had 
any  contract  at  all,  but  hoped  to  hit  the  mark 
somehow  if  we  put  in  enough  shot.  Now,  if  I 
had  a clerk  who  insisted  on  putting  a dozen 
stamps  on  each  letter  just  because  he  had  the 
stamps  and  wanted  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  I 
should  urge  him  to  go  and  die;  and  yet  we  re- 
gard with  indifference  the  melancholy  spectacle 
of  young  men  trying  to  acquire  the  art  of  putting 
a dozen  words  in  a two-word  idea. 

If  the  breath  wasted  by  the  present  generation 


172 


ADDRESSES. 


of  lawyers  could  be  gathered  into  a single  wind, 
it  would  polish  the  earth’s  surface  smooth  as  the 
cheek  of  an  apple.  I know  a single  lawyer  whose 
superfluous  eloquence  would  furnish  a fair  sailing 
breeze.  He  has  an  automatic  tongue  and  an 
inexhaustible  reservoir  of  something  which  he 
calls  argument;  and  perhaps  it  is,  but  when  he 
rises  in  court  and  turns  himself  on,  the  judge 
soon  begins  to  think  of  a certain  recent  discovery 
in  the  vicinity  of  Pittsburg,  and  wonders  how  they 
manage  down  there  when  they  want  to  shut  off 
the  illumination. 

In  justice  to  the  Bench  it  must  be  said  that  in  this 
fault  it  does  not  rival  the  Bar.  Judges  will  persist 
in  repeating  the  time-honored  formula,  declaring 
that  their  only  desire  is  to  do  right  and  administer 
the  law  impartially,  but  then,  after  all,  there  is 
sometimes  a satisfaction  in  knowing  what  they  are 
trying  to  do.  The  records  of  our  courts,  however, 
and  even  the  rules  of  practice,  lack  somewhat  the 
simplicity  and  brevity  which  would  seem  to  befit 
them ; as,  for  example,  the  familiar  rule  that  if, 
after  nulla  bona  returned,  a testatum  be  entered 
upon  the  roll  quod  devastavit , a writ  of  inquiry 
shall  be  directed  to  the  sheriff,  and  if,  by  inquisi- 
tion, the  devastavit  be  found  and  returned,  there 
shall  issue  a scire  facias  quare  executio  non  de 
fropriis  bonis , and  if  upon  this  the  sheriff  shall 
return  scire  feci , the  executor  or  administrator 
may  appear  and  traverse  the  inquisition. 


THE  KING'S  ENGLISH. 


173 


But  a change  is  coming.  One  after  another 
the  State  legislatures  have  recently  prescribed 
brief  forms  for  conveyances,  and  about  two-thirds 
of  the  States  have  adopted  simpler  systems  of 
pleading  and  procedure. 

Of  course  some  objection  is  made,  and  chiefly 
by  the  older  lawyers.  They  say  that  the  old 
forms  have  been  scrutinized  and  expounded  by 
Bench  and  Bar  for  a century  or  more,  and  made 
intelligible.  But,  after  all,  this  does  not  prove 
their  superior  excellence. 

One  might  by  long  practice  demonstrate  the 
possibility  of  writing  legibly  with  a fork,  but  it 
would  not  follow  that  a fork  is  the  best  pen  to 
be  had. 

It  seems  to  me  that  to  insist  upon  clear,  concise, 
and  direct  statements,  arguments,  and  pleadings, 
will  be  to  put  a premium  upon  those  intellectual 
qualities  and  that  mental  training  which  alone  can 
fit  men  for  high  places  in  the  law. 

In  a science  which  professes  to  deal  with  the 
substance  of  human  acts  and  relations,  useless 
words  should  be  held  to  indicate  a careless 
mind. 

Nor  does  it  follow  that  the  present  intricate 
procedure  of  the  courts  insures  certainty  in  the 
result.  If  you  will  permit  me,  I will  illustrate  this 
by  the  story  of  a certain  lawsuit,  the  first  of 
any  magnitude  in  which  I had  the  honor  to 
be  engaged. 


I74 


ADDRESSES. 


I was  then  reading  law  in  an  office  in  this  city. 
In  the  same  office  was  another  youth  who  had 
just  been  admitted  to  the  Bar.  I will  not  name 
him,  although  he  has  since  become  eminent  in 
the  profession  as  general  solicitor  of  the  great 
Chewing  Gum  Trust,  and  other  devouring  mo- 
nopolies, and  ought  not  to  be  sensitive  about  his 
first  efforts.  A client  of  the  office  had  a goat.  It 
was  not  a Cashmere  goat,  but  a plain,  unostenta- 
tious animal,  — a sort  of  cow-goat,  that  gave  milk 
for  its  board.  And  one  day  this  goat  was  killed 
by  a neighbor,  and  the  owner  desired  to  bring 
suit  for  damages.  The  grown-up  lawyers  in  the 
office  hesitated  to  undertake  the  case,  as  they 
had  never  made  a specialty  of  goat  cases,  and 
were  suspicious  of  the  animal  under  any  circum- 
stances ; and  so  my  friend  and  I offered  our  ser- 
vices and  devoted  ourselves  to  the  construction  of 
the  declaration  according  to  our  somewhat  im- 
mature theories  of  pleading.  As  the  killing  was 
clearly  tortious,  we  commenced  with  a count  in 
case  ; then,  as  the  goat  had  gone  to  that  “ bourne 
from  which  no  traveller  returns,”  — gone  to  be  set 
off  against  a sheep  in  the  final  decree  of  partition, 
and  could  not  be  restored  in  specie,  — we  drew  a 
count  in  trover,  setting  up  that  our  client  had 
casually  lost,  and  that  the  defendant  had  casually 
found,  the  said  goat,  and  had  converted  her,  and 
thereby  become  liable  for  the  value  of  the  unre- 
generate animal  before  conversion. 


THE  KING'S  ENGLISH. 


175 


Then,  upon  the  theory  of  an  implied  promise 
to  pay  for  the  goat,  we  added  a count  in  assump- 
sit, and  finally,  as  a matter  of  precaution,  added 
the  common  counts  for  labor  and  material,  mon- 
eys expended,  etc.  The  defendant’s  attorney,  a 
hard,  technical  man,  utterly  devoid  of  sympathy, 
and  without  compunction  for  the  goat,  demurred 
to  our  declaration,  and  after  he  had  got  it  trimmed 
down  to  suit  his  taste,  filed  a set  of  pleas  which 
seemed  to  me  at  the  time  to  be  somewhat  incon- 
sistent. He  pleaded  that  the  plaintiff  never  had 
a goat;  that  the  plaintiff ’s  goat  died  a natural 
death ; that  the  goat  committed  suicide ; that  the 
defendant  killed  the  goat  in  self-defence ; that  the 
defendant  had  paid  for  the  goat;  then  he  pleaded 
set-off,  estoppel,  the  Statute  of  Frauds,  and  the 
general  issue.  Of  course  we  took  leave  to  reply 
double  to  each  plea,  and  so  the  record  grew; 
and  when  that  case  went  to  the  jury,  though  I 
never  could  understand  just  how  it  happened, 
there  was  n’t  any  goat  in  it  at  all,  and  the  defend- 
ant recovered  judgment  against  our  client  for  an 
old  wheelbarrow  that  we  never  had  heard  of  be- 
fore. This  case  may  serve  to  show  how  justice 
may  be  mangled  by  her  own  machinery.  And  if 
we  turn  to  Chancery  we  shall  find  about  the  same 
state  of  affairs. 

If  I meet  a man  on  the  street  and  he  charges 
me  with  having  robbed  him  by  some  breach  of 
trust,  I simply  call  him  Ananias,  he  retorts  that 


176 


ADDRESSES. 


I am  a thief,  and  the  issue  is  made  up,  and  is 
clear,  simple,  and  unmistakable ; but  if  he  carries 
the  matter  into  court,  his  solicitor  files  a long  bill 
in  which  he  flatters  the  Court,  proclaims  his 
client  an  orator,  and  then  proceeds  in  a dozen 
pages  to  recite  my  many  wrongful  acts ; insinuates 
that  sometimes  I pretend  one  thing  and  some- 
times another ; declares  that  he  well  hoped  I 
would  do  the  fair  thing,  and  is  grievously  dis- 
appointed in  me ; protests  that  the  law  is  power- 
less to  remedy  such  wrongs  as  his ; and  asks  the 
Court  to  give  him  such  relief  as  he  may  choose 
to  pray  for,  and  such  further  relief  as  the  Court 
may  consider  handy  to  have  in  such  a case.  Then 
I take  my  turn,  and  after  saving  and  reserving 
unto  myself  all  benefit  and  advantage  of  excep- 
tion to  the  many  errors,  uncertainties,  and  imper- 
fections in  the  said  bill  contained,  for  answer 
thereunto,  or  unto  so  much  and  such  parts  there- 
of as  I am  advised  by  counsel  are  necessary  or 
material  to  be  answered  unto,  answering  say  that 
in  each  of  complainant’s  allegations,  in  turn,  he 
is  purposely  and  maliciously  mistaken ; and 
finally,  having  fully  answered  the  bill  and  denied 
“ all  and  all  manner  of  unlawful  combination  and 
confederacy,  without  this,  that  there  is  any  other 
matter,  cause,  or  thing  in  the  complainant’s  said 
bill  of  complaint  contained,  material  or  necessary 
to  be  answered  unto,  and  not  herein  and  hereby 
well  and  sufficiently  answered,  confessed,  traversed, 


THE  KING’S  ENGLISH. 


1 77 


and  avoided  or  denied,  is  true  to  the  knowledge 
or  belief  of  this  defendant,”  and  having  offered 
to  prove  the  truth  of  my  statements,  I pray  to  be 
dismissed  with  costs. 

Then  comes  the  complainant  again  with  a gen- 
eral refutation  that  no  man  can  calmly  under- 
stand, and  no  set  of  men  can  parse ; and  finally 
the  judge  sends  the  whole  case  to  his  Master  to 
tell  him  what  he  ought  to  do  about  it. 

Yet  it  is  true  that  in  spite  of  its  loitering  by  the 
way  the  Court  of  Chancery  seldom  fails  to  reach 
its  goal. 

Let  me  illustrate  its  method  by  a single  in- 
stance. Some  years  ago  a certain  widow  of  this 
city  opened  a home  for  salaried  young  men. 
She  was  plain,  but  self-supporting,  and  before 
long  one  of  the  young  men  offered  his  hand  and 
heart  and  was  not  repulsed ; so  for  some  time  he 
continued  to  enjoy  her  society  and  table  free  of 
expense.  But  when  she  grew  impatient  and 
began  to  name  days  in  the  near  future,  he  basely 
changed  his  plans  and  his  boarding-house,  and 
she  promptly  called  upon  her  solicitor. 

That  gentleman  filed  a bill  in  Chancery  setting 
up  the  promise  and  the  breach  thereof,  the  be- 
trayal of  his  client’s  trust  and  confidence,  and  the 
fact  that  there  was  no  adequate  remedy  at  law, 
inasmuch  as  defendant  was  impecunious,  and  for- 
asmuch as  the  widow  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
trust  the  tyrant  man  just  once  more,  and  insisted 

12 


i;8 


ADDRESSES. 


on  doing  so,  and  therefore  praying  for  a decree 
of  specific  performance.  The  chancellor,  whom 
I will  not  name  (neither  will  I deny  that  it  was 
Judge  Moran)  had  a tender  regard  for  the  sex 
and  a boundless  belief  in  the  jurisdiction  of  his 
Court,  and  he  promptly  decreed  that  defendant 
marry  the  complainant  within  ten  days. 

It  was  then  discovered  that  the  defendant,  with 
singular  discretion,  had  left  the  country.  Now, 
our  Court  of  Chancery  is  not  easily  balked  in  the 
execution  of  its  decrees.  It  does  not  depend 
upon  the  willingness  of  the  defendant  to  obey  its 
commands;  and  in  this  case  the  judge  simply 
added  to  the  decree,  “ and  it  appearing  to  the 
Court  that  the  said  defendant  had  departed  from 
this  State,  and  from  the  jurisdiction  of  this  Court, 
it  is  hereby  ordered  and  decreed  that  AB,  Master 
in  Chancery  of  this  Court,  do  forthwith  marry  the 
complainant,  and  that  he  report  his  proceedings 
in  the  premises  to  this  Court  at  the  next  term 
thereof.” 

All  of  which  shows  clearly  how  justice  may  be 
done  without  any  inconvenience  to  any  one. 


POSTERITY. 


Delivered  at  the  Banquet  in  Honor  of  Chauncey  M. 
Depew  in  Chicago  on  June  6,  1890,  in  Response  to 
the  Toast  of  “Posterity.” 

Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen,  — Without 
being  in  the  confidence  of  its  promoters,  I 
venture  to  guess  that  this  pleasant  affair  was 
designed  as  an  opportunity  to  convince  our 
distinguished  guest  that  in  spite  of  his  recent 
hallucination  we  love  him  still.  In  the  matter 
of  magnanimity  Chicago  is  simply  spectacular. 
A man  may  dream  of  fairer  cities  and  more 
central  centres  of  the  world;  but  if  he  wake 
with  eyes  wide  open  to  the  light,  she  will  take 
him  to  her  heart  as  if  he  had  never  doubted 
her. 

But  if  it  be  the  object  of  this  meeting  merely 
to  solace  the  sorrow  of  our  now  regenerate  friend 
over  the  only  mistake  he  ever  made,  and  inci- 
dentally to  betray  our  own  greatness  of  soul, 
why  should  we  look  beyond  this  happy  hour 
of  reconciliation,  and  why  should  I be  called 
upon  to  talk  about  posterity?  Well,  possibly 
because  that  which  we  are  doing  to-day  and 


l8o  ADDRESSES. 

are  about  to  do  must  be  of  interest  to  those 
who  follow  us ; perhaps  because  we  realize  that 
we  have  talked  too  long  about  the  debts  we 
owe  to  dead  men,  and  might  as  well  begin  to 
think  of  what  we  owe  to  the  generations  yet 
unborn. 

It’s  easy  to  admit  indebtedness  to  those  who 
cannot  call  for  payment.  It ’s  cheap  and  safe  to 
sound  the  praises  of  those  who  have  passed  for- 
ever from  the  lists  of  rivalry.  Even  doctors  ad- 
mit that  angel  doctors  knew  a thing  or  two  on 
earth,  and  even  our  sparkling  toastmaster  will 
acknowledge  that  Shakespeare  was  talented. 

But  that  which  comes  to  us  as  heirs  of  yester- 
day we  hold  as  trustees  for  to-morrow,  and  to- 
morrow will  claim  a reckoning. 

Now  I don’t  propose  to  discuss  the  whole  sub- 
ject assigned  to  me  by  your  committee.  I should 
not  feel  bound  to  do  so  without  some  agreement 
for  a salary  and  a summer  vacation. 

But  let  me  say  a few  words  about  the  interest 
of  my  client,  posterity,  in  the  present  occasion 
and  the  near  future  of  Chicago.  Of  course  I 
don’t  mean  all  human  beings  of  the  future  tense, 
for  observation  tells  us  that  posterity  is  the  nat- 
ural product  of  every  clime,  and  much  of  it  we 
cannot  strictly  call  our  own  even  for  the  pur- 
pose of  argument.  I refer  only  to  the  favored 
millions  who  shall  inherit  this  Western  world. 
Surely  they  have  some  part  and  interest  in  the 


POSTERITY. 


1 8 1 


history  of  to-day.  Our  acts  performed  are  facts 
immutable  by  gods  or  men,  and  pass  into  the 
pride  or  shame  of  generations  yet  to  be.  By 
the  strict  logic  of  events  there  is  nothing,  how- 
ever trivial,  which  goes  to  make  or  mar  the 
character  of  men,  or  peoples,  or  states,  or  cities, 
but  passes  on,  a help  or  hindrance  to  the  race 
forever. 

Now  these  general  observations  may  possibly 
remind  you  of  something  heard  before.  They 
don’t  impress  me  as  altogether  novel,  but  I 
have  made  them  for  the  special  application  they 
have  to  the  present  day  and  even  to  this  precise 
occasion ; for  it  happens  that  we  speak  to-night 
right  into  the  open  ear  of  posterity.  Our  daz- 
zling toastmaster,  a gentleman  of  whom  it  may 
be  said  that  his  faults  are  lonely  and  his  virtues 
overcrowded,  is  engaged  in  writing  a history  of 
Illinois  for  future  generations,  and  incidentally  in 
making  sure  of  a good  audience. 

In  that  veracious  narrative  he  will  doubtless 
tell  with  his  accustomed  grace  and  usual  accu- 
racy how,  May  5,  1889,  at  the  Grand  Pacific 
Hotel,  he  presided  over  this  banquet,  how  it  was 
given  in  honor  of  one  who  began  life  as  a 
humble  railroad  president  and  rose  to  dizzy 
heights  of  statesmanship,  and  might  with  prac- 
tice have  become  an  after-dinner  speaker;  and 
the  boys  of  the  twentieth  century  will  be  content 
to  start  out  as  railroad  presidents  and  work  their 


ADDRESSES. 


182 

way  up.  He  will  tell  how  sundry  gentlemen, 
selected  for  their  easy  command  of  all  human 
knowledge,  their  personal  beauty,  and  good- 
natured  willingness  to  suffer  on  festive  occasions, 
discussed  subjects  of  the  first  magnitude  and 
disposed  of  national  problems  with  neatness  and 
despatch ; and  posterity  will  read  the  story 
and  rejoice  in  us  ancestors. 

But  there  is  one  other  matter  of  which  I 
thought  to  speak  to-night.  After  what  has  been 
said  here  it  seems  useless  to  attempt  further  con- 
cealment of  the  fact  that  we  are  soon  to  hold  the 
World’s  Fair  in  or  near  Chicago. 

The  exact  spot  has  not  yet  been  selected,  and 
may  not  be  this  week.  I trust  that  the  Directors 
are  favored  with  liberal  suggestions  on  this  point, 
as  I understand  they  intend  to  suit  everybody,  if 
everybody  will  but  kindly  and  with  reasonable 
diligence  express  a preference. 

Now,  unhappily,  my  client,  posterity,  cannot 
communicate  directly  with  the  Board,  having 
been  excluded  from  the  mails  by  order  of  our 
good  Postmaster-General,  on  the  ground  that 
posterity  advertises  marriage,  which  is  a lottery, 
and  so  it  sends  a message  by  me. 

As  to  the  exact  site,  my  clients,  if  I may 
assume  that  posterity  will  be  plural,  are  not  par- 
ticular. They  will  not  attend  the  Fair  in  per- 
son. So  they  speak  without  the  bias  of  personal 
convenience,  and  have  but  this  to  say:  that  any 


POSTERITY. 


183 


site  will  suit  them  which  shall  be  known  there- 
after as  the  field  of  Chicago’s  victory ; and  if  the 
Directors  desire  to  go  down  the  ages  in  full 
plumage,  they  will  do  well  to  give  heed  to  this 
suggestion. 

You  men  of  to-day  have  undertaken  a mighty 
work,  and  not  altogether  at  your  own  risk.  You 
hold  the  Fair,  and  posterity  takes  what  is  left, — 
the  consequences  of  success  or  failure ; the  good 
or  bad  name  which  shall  be  given  to  this  City  of 
Chicago.  It  is  possible,  of  course,  that  — to  use  a 
bit  of  Boston  slang  — you  have  severed  more 
than  you  can  masticate ; but  I don’t  believe  it. 
I believe  with  all  my  heart  that  Chicago  will 
keep  her  pledges  to  the  world  and  yet  undo  the 
meanest,  even  as  she  has  already  won  the  fairest 
of  her  critics.  The  other  day  I met  a young  per- 
son who  had  been  born  of  wealthy  parents  some- 
where between  Brooklyn  and  Jersey  City,  and  had 
naturally  grown  up  into  the  effigy  of  an  English- 
man, — a curious  creature  with  a stuffed  heart  and 
a head  so  plastic  that  a good  breeze  would  blow 
it  out  of  shape;  and  this  gifted  being  predicted 
that  we  should  fail  because  the  best  people  will 
not  come  here,  at  least  during  the  London  season ; 
and,  besides,  he  knew  lots  of  Chicago  fellows,  and 
we  were  rum  chaps,  but  awfully  “ bad  form.” 
Well,  it  may  be  so,  for  I have  heard  that  rum 
goes  to  the  head ; and,  as  to  “ form,”  we  have 
seen  some  men  who  have  it  to  distraction ; but 


ADDRESSES. 


they  are  not  the  men  for  real  and  great 
emergencies. 

Let  us  have  done  with  idle  contention  about 
the  niceties  of  form.  Unless  Chicago  shall  be 
swallowed  by  the  earth,  or  blown  away,  or  burned 
up,  or  withered  by  another  criticism  from  New 
York,  the  next  generation  of  men  will  find  her 
grown  to  proportions  which  by  comparison  will 
make  her  present  state  seem  embryonic.  Give 
to  posterity  the  city  of  material  prosperity,  of 
accumulated  wealth,  of  undaunted  enterprise  and 
the  fixed  habit  of  success,  and  let  her  coming 
citizens  accept  the  challenge  of  older  communi- 
ties in  the  fields  of  culture  and  the  arts.  We 
have  no  business  with  such  questions  yet.  What 
half-grown  girl  ever  yet  surpassed  the  grace  and 
symmetry  of  womanhood?  What  city  ever  yet 
builded  herself  so  broad  and  high  in  half  a cen- 
tury, and  in  that  time  acquired  the  atmosphere  of 
ages?  I am  sick  of  this  cant  about  municipal 
aesthetics.  When  Chicago  expelled  the  Indian 
and  the  wolf  from  her  chosen  site,  she  had  within 
her  the  promise  and  potency  of  all  that  the  world 
demands  of  her  to-day,  and  she  has  known  it 
passing  well ; but  she  was  not  exempt  from  the 
natural  laws  by  which  great  states  and  cities 
grow.  Before  her  stretched  the  iron  age  of  hard 
and  homely  toil,  of  uncouth  manners  and  all  the 
stubborn  harshness  of  crude  energy,  — a long 
hard  age,  but  none  too  long  and  none  too  hard 


POSTERITY. 


IBS 

if  in  the  end  it  brightens  into  a golden  rather 
than  a merely  gilded  age.  A bearded  fool  may 
sneer  at  the  smooth  cheek  of  the  boy,  but  that 
ought  not  to  bring  a blush  upon  it ; for  it  is 
Nature’s  wise  way  to  build  up  bone  and  muscle 
and  give  the  man  his  stature  before  the  orna- 
ments of  manhood.  I should  doubt  the  lusty 
vigor  of  Chicago  if  she,  in  her  youth,  already 
showed  the  signs  of  age. 

And  now  let  me  conclude  my  message  with 
reference  to  the  Fair.  Posterity  will  demand  of 
you  nothing  less  than  the  glory  of  success. 
Chicago  has  boldly  claimed  and  fairly  won  the 
honor  of  standing  for  America  before  the  world, 
and  with  that  honor  comes  a serious  obligation 
that  might  well  appall  so  young  a city.  But  she 
has  craved  the  honor  and  courted  the  penalty. 
Now  let  her  go  to  work.  Let  the  same  indomi- 
table will  that  raised  her  from  the  swamp  and 
again  from  the  ashes  of  destruction  hold  her 
steadfast  now.  Let  her  not  count  the  cost  too 
closely,  or  buy  a failure  with  $10,000,000,  if 
$20,000,000  will  insure  success.  Let  her  draw  on 
posterity  for  the  round  sum  that  the  future  ought 
to  pay  from  its  inheritance,  and  if  the  draft  shall 
be  the  token  of  success,  it  will  be  honored. 


YALE  IN  THE  WEST. 


Delivered  at  the  Yale  Alumni  Banquet  in  New  York 
on  January  20,  1893,  in  Response  to  the  Toast  of 
“Yale  in  the  West.” 


'HEN  a Chicago  man  is  permitted  to  asso- 


ciate upon  terms  of  equality  with  the 


polished  representatives  of  an  older  and  higher 
civilization,  there  is  nothing  so  becomes  that  man 
as  modest  stillness  and  humility.  This  is  a propo- 
sition in  etiquette  which,  I believe,  is  not  disputed 
anywhere  east  of  the  Alleghenies ; and  if  I shall 
seem  to  disregard  it  this  evening,  it  is  not  because 
I deny  it,  or  forget  the  many  admonitions  of  the 
last  year  or  two,  but  simply  because  the  gracious 
invitation  of  your  committee  seems  to  imply  a 
brief  suspension  of  the  ordinary  rule  of  inter- 
course which  you  have  established. 

Let  me  thank  you,  gentlemen,  for  this  evidence 
of  your  kindly  interest,  and  express  the  hope  that 
it  betokens  a growing  catholicity  of  spirit,  a 
deeper  concern  for  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men.  The  fact  is  that  we  have  been  so  chastened 
by  New  York  ever  since  St.  Louis  withdrew  her 
counsel  that  we  have  become  painfully  sensitive, 


YALE  IN  THE  WEST. 


187 


and  a little  act  of  kindness  touches  us  in  a way 
you  pampered  and  flattered  autocrats  can  hardly 
understand.  We  have  done  wrong,  we  admit, 
but  we  did  not  know  any  better;  and  we  do  not 
want  to  be  utterly  condemned  and  treated  as 
quadrupeds  forever.  We  did  n’t  suppose  that 
you  would  object  to  pork-packing  at  such  a dis- 
tance, where  it  could  not  come  between  the  wind 
and  your  nobility;  you  ought  to  have  told  us 
before  we  became  dependent  on  that  industry  for 
our  living  and  the  sinews  of  our  best  society. 
We  never  supposed  that  you  would  consider  it 
impertinent  in  us  to  grow.  You  should  have 
told  us  betimes.  And  when  a little  while  ago 
Chicago  picked  up  what  seemed  a pretty  bauble, 
and  hung  it  about  her  neck  in  childish  glee,  she 
did  n’t  dream  that  it  was  yours.  Why  did  n’t  you 
label  your  millstone? 

Of  course,  life  in  Chicago,  as  compared  with 
your  butterfly  existence,  has  its  disadvantages. 
I do  not  know  that  I can  better  illustrate  this  than 
by  reading  an  extract  from  one  of  your  journals, 
which  sometimes  evinces  a certain  critical  inter- 
est in  Chicago : — 

“ At  every  grade-crossing  death  awaits  the  unfortunate 
sojourner  in  Chicago.  Submersion  in  the  streets,  the 
deliquescence  of  the  whole  town  in  the  quicksands  upon 
which  it  sags,  the  blackness  of  the  smoke  above  and  the 
blackness  of  the  deeper  Chicago  underneath,  water 
filtered  through  sewage,  and  the  twitchings  of  remorse 


1 83 


ADDRESSES. 


for  inability  to  comprehend  David  Swing  and  Dr.  Harris 
on  Shakespeare  and  Dante,  make  existence  very  miser- 
able to  thousands  of  Chicagoans.” 

Now  let  me  read  another  extract  from  the  same 
journal,  descriptive  of  a day  in  New  York:  — 

“ The  free  lunches  furnished  by  the  hotels  and  saloons 
on  New  Year’s  were  more  elaborate  this  year  than  ever 
before,  but  the  finest  spreads  furnished  without  cost  to 
the  consumer  were  given  by  the  proprietors  of  the  res- 
taurants and  saloons  near  the  exchanges  on  Saturday. 
One  saloon  in  New  Street  not  only  furnished  free 
champagne  and  an  elaborate  luncheon,  but  also  pro- 
vided an  orchestra  and  an  imitator  of  Lottie  Collins,  to 
entertain  all  who  came.  The  proprietor  of  another 
saloon  gave  a set  banquet  of  eight  courses  and  six  kinds 
of  wine  to  his  patrons.  Free  champagne,  champagne 
punch,  and  champagne  cup,  as  well  as  the  most  delicate 
viands,  could  be  obtained  in  any  of  the  leading  restau- 
rants and  saloons  near  the  stock  or  produce  exchanges.” 

You  see  that  with  us,  while  the  opportunities 
of  life  are  limited,  the  opportunities  of  death  are 
superabundant.  The  Chicago  man  who  by 
chance  survives  to-day  will  start  out  to-morrow 
with  his  choice  of  alternatives.  He  may  either 
be  minced  at  a grade  crossing,  or  break  through 
the  pavement  and  go  gurgling  down  the  depths 
of  deliquescent  putriditjq  or  take  a glass  of  sew- 
age and  die  of  nausea.  Compare  these  with  your 
alternatives  of  champagne,  champagne  punch, 


YALE  IN  THE  WEST. 


189 


and  champagne  cup,  and  have  compassion  upon 
us.  Really,  you  seem  to  revel  in  the  favors  of 
Providence;  but  do  not  forget  that  whom  the 
Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth. 

But  your  chairman  has  told  you  that  I would 
speak  of  Yale  in  the  West,  and  I am  inclined  to 
lead  up  to  that  subject  by  the  consideration  of  a 
single  Yale  man,  whom  some  of  you  may  know, 
as  he  sometimes  appears  in  the  West.  We  have 
adopted  him  as  “ Our  Chauncey,”  — you  know 
we  all  have  to  take  our  chances,  — and  we  are 
somewhat  surprised  that  he  should  be  so  little 
known  at  home.  We  fancy  that  if  you  could 
draw  him  out  a little,  as  we  do,  you  ’d  get  to  like 
him.  He  comes  out  West  occasionally  to  look 
up  a President,  or  give  the  Fair  a boost,  or  find  a 
good  dinner  with  fresh  ears,  and  we  always  give 
him  a banquet ; and  he  sits  down  with  us  to  our 
homely  fare  as  if  pork  and  beer  were  the  particu- 
lar things  that  make  life  worth  living.  He  says 
he  likes  to  dine  where  he  can  get  his  coat  off  and 
do  his  own  reaching;  that  when  he  goes  out  to 
public  dinners  at  home  he  gets  but  one  dish  at  a 
time,  and  then  has  to  listen  to  a lot  of  speeches 
by  amateurs.  You  see,  when  he  is  with  us,  we 
divide  the  labor  otherwise,  and  he  does  the  talk- 
ing — and  does  it  cheerfully.  He  tells  us  on  such 
occasions  how  much  he  likes  us,  and  how  sorry 
he  is  that  his  duty  to  a lot  of  men  who  hold  stock 
in  him  keeps  him  in  the  East.  He  says  he  had 


ADDRESSES. 


190 

rather  sit  down  to  a dinner  of  herbs  with  us  than 
eat  stalled  oxen  with  others ; and  that  Chicago  is 
the  only  city  in  the  world  where  a Christian  cannot 
make  anything  by  dying.  He ’s  very  popular 
with  us,  and  even  in  the  remote  fringe  of  Chicago 
which  is  called  the  far  West.  Out  in  the  Yellow- 
stone country  they  have  named  a fine  geyser 
after  him;  and,  by  the  way,  it  seems  to  have 
stimulated  the  geyser. 

But  what  of  those  other  Yale  men  who  are 
part  and  parcel  of  the  West,  and  of  the  influence 
which,  through  them,  Yale  is  exerting  in  that 
country?  It  goes  without  saying  that  in  Chicago, 
where  manliness  means  more  than  culture  and 
water,  and  man  cannot  live  by  pedigree  alone, 
Yale  is  the  popular  university.  Of  course,  there 
are  those  among  us  who  insist  that  Harvard  is 
the  nicer  college,  — such  ladies  may  be  found 
anywhere, — and  some  who  protest  that  Prince- 
ton is  the  only  bulwark  that  can  save  us  from  the 
loss  of  hell;  but  to  the  typical  Chicago  boy,  who 
is  apt  to  be  a little  careless  of  his  accent  and 
rather  sanguine  in  his  theology,  the  name  of  Yale 
is  very  potent.  The  fact  is,  that  the  Harvard 
alumni  are  becoming  too  intensely  aesthetic.  Just 
after  the  last  meeting  of  the  colleges  at  Spring- 
field,  where  Yale  played  football  in  the  presence 
of  Harvard,  the  Harvard  alumni  in  Chicago  held 
their  annual  banquet,  and  one  of  them,  telling  me 
of  it  the  next  day,  mentioned  the  fact  that  during 


YALE  IN  THE  WEST. 


191 

the  whole  evening  not  a word  was  said  about 
football ; so  I say  they  are  becoming  too  purely 
intellectual  in  their  interests.  Now,  with  the 
Princeton  men  it  was  different.  They  had  a din- 
ner just  after  the  game  of  last  Thanksgiving  Day, 
and  they  had  a good  deal  to  say  of  the  affair; 
that  is,  their  chaplain  thanked  the  Lord  that  their 
beloved  institution  had  been  spared  for  another 
year  of  usefulness. 

The  college-bred  men  of  the  West  have  become 
an  army,  and  they  are  doing  service  in  the 
centers  and  in  the  outposts  of  civilization.  They 
are  the  regulars  in  a vaster  army.  They  are 
furnishing  officers  to  the  militia  in  the  great  cam- 
paign against  wrong  and  want  and  ignorance  and 
crime,  and  the  thousand  nameless  shapes  of  ani- 
malism. They  are  directing  the  tendencies  of 
exuberant  life  and  restless  energy.  They  are  “ a 
power  that  makes  for  righteousness.”  And  they 
are  loyal  to  the  West.  You  may  have  observed 
this ; and  I suppose  there  is  nothing  that  amuses 
you  more  than,  for  instance,  a Chicago  man’s 
faith  in  Chicago.  It  is  amusing,  of  course,  — 
almost  as  funny  as  a New  Yorker’s  pride  in  Lon- 
don, and  really  quite  as  commendable.  He’s  a 
queer  fellow,  this  Western  cousin  of  yours,  but  not 
such  a bad  sort  of  fellow,  after  all.  There ’s  some- 
thing in  his  bumptious,  belligerent  local  pride 
that  irritates  the  nerves  of  Eastern  men;  and 
when  the  spirit  of  brag  is  upon  him,  no  such  light 


192 


ADDRESSES. 


artillery  as  the  canons  of  taste  will  stop  him.  In 
that  mood  he  would  describe  the  stock  yards  to 
Ward  McAllister.  And  yet  — he  has  his  good 
points.  He  has,  for  instance,  the  habit  of  self- 
dependence.  He  is  rarely  the  victim  of  congen- 
ital wealth,  and  seldom  bows  down  to  family 
names.  He  holds  that  the  merely  rich  ought  to 
be  humble,  and  grasps  the  strong  hand,  the  will- 
ing and  open  hand,  without  thinking  of  manicures. 
There ’s  an  oxygen  in  his  atmosphere  that  quick- 
ens his  senses.  He  sees  things  large;  he  hears 
the  voices  of  to-morrow ; he  tastes  in  hope  the 
flavor  of  success;  he  feels  in  his  own  veins  the 
pulse  of  a people,  and  that  is  the  sort  of  madness 
that  works  miracles  in  this  age.  He  lacks  the 
graces  of  life  lived  in  hereditary  mansions,  but  he 
is  yet  fresh  from  the  ancestral  cabin.  He  is 
somewhat  uncouth,  perhaps ; but  he  cuts  his  coat 
to  the  measure  of  the  man  he  means  to  be,  and 
some  day  it  will  fit  him.  He’s  too  busy  just  now 
to  stop  and  meditate  on  the  niceties  of  form ; but 
don’t  blame  him  for  that,  for,  after  all,  the  ques- 
tions of  taste  are  not  as  yet  the  most  pressing 
problems  of  his  life.  He ’s  doing  with  all  his 
might  the  things  that  must  be  done,  and  working 
out  a result  to  be  proud  of.  You  are  proud  of  it 
to-day.  You  know  you  are.  You  are  not  per- 
niciously active  in  showing  it  just  at  present,  but 
that  doesn’t  signify;  and  very  soon  the  whole 
world  will  be  invited  to  glow  with  the  same  pride  ; 


YALE  IN  THE  WEST 


193 


for  I take  it  that  the  people  who  visit  this  coun- 
try next  summer  will  not  repeat  the  mistake  of 
Columbus  and  stop  at  the  first  island  they  come 
to  and  think  they  have  seen  the  whole  of  America, 
even  though  that  island  should  be  this  fairest  and 
proudest  of  all  her  possessions. 

13 


CHICAGO. 


Delivered  at  the  Banquet  in  Honor  of  Daniel  H. 
Burnham,  in  New  York,  on  March  25,  1893,  IN 
Response  to  the  Toast  of  “Chicago.” 


OTHING  could  be  more  gratifying  to  a 


i.  ^ Chicago  man  than  this  noble  tribute  to 
Mr.  Burnham ; and  not  merely  because  he  be- 
longs to  Chicago  and  Chicago  is  proud  of  him, 
but  because,  also,  the  work  which  he  has  done  so 
well,  and  which  now  elicits  your  admiration,  is 
largely  her  work.  You  cannot  honor  him  be- 
yond his  just  deserts ; and  you  will  not  spoil  him 
by  approbation.  It  may  be  said  of  him,  as  was 
said  of  another,  that  he  has  earned  his  fame  by 
the  arduous  greatness  of  things  done ; and  such 
men  are  not  stupefied  by  applause.  It  never 
did  hurt  a Daniel  to  be  lionized.  And  in  honor- 
ing him  you  testify  your  appreciation  of  that  lib- 
eral spirit  which  has  permitted  him  to  enlist  in  the 
great  work  over  which  he  has  presided,  without 
regard  to  local  pride  or  sectional  jealousies,  the 
men  who  best  express  the  constructive  and  artistic 
genius  of  the  age.  Those  marvelous  palaces 
which,  untenanted,  would  justify  a convocation  of 


CHICAGO. 


195 


the  nations,  are  monuments  not  only  to  the  skill 
of  architect  and  artist,  but  also  to  the  bold  spirit 
and  clear  prevision  of  the  men  who  dared  to  set 
the  scale  of  such  a work. 

This  is  indeed  a new  sensation  for  Chicago. 
Hitherto  she  has  received  from  this  quarter  full 
recognition  of  her  claims  as  a pork,  beef,  and 
grain  market,  and  scant  courtesy  to  her  aspira- 
tions for  art  and  culture ; and  that  now,  in  this 
city  of  accomplishments,  her  chosen  representa- 
tive should  receive  the  plaudits  of  the  very 
elect  for  his  services  to  art,  is  at  least  a sweet 
surprise. 

But  this  makes  easy  and  agreeable  the  duty 
which  is  assigned  to  me.  I come,  in  the  friendli- 
est mood,  to  offer  consolation  for  any  disappoint- 
ments which  may  have  resulted  from  the  location 
of  the  Fair.  If  you  will  kindly  recall  the  spirited 
controversy  over  that  question,  you  will  remem- 
ber that  New  York  signified  a willingness.  She 
did  not  really  want  the  Fair,  of  course,  — for  she 
has  said  so  since,  — but  she  certainly  assumed  a 
wistful  expression;  and  when  the  matter  was 
settled  she  did  not  see  the  hand  of  Providence  in 
it,  and  had  her  doubts  about  the  wisdom  of  the 
choice,  — doubts  which  she  did  not  regard  as 
confidential.  Chicago,  of  course,  was  elated. 
She  was  a good  deal  smaller  then,  and  it  pleased 
her  to  be  treated  as  a large  city ; and  she  swelled 
up  and  said  the  size  of  the  job  was  quite  im- 


196 


ADDRESSES. 


material ; and  now,  like  the  man  who  won  the 
elephant  in  the  raffle,  she  rejoices  that  it  is  no 
bigger. 

But  I am  not  going  to  discuss  that  question 
here.  A few  months  longer,  and  the  wisdom  or 
the  folly  of  that  selection  will  be  evident  to  all 
the  world.  I mean  but  to  call  attention  to  the 
silver  lining  of  your  cloud.  There  are  certainly 
some  advantages  in  not  having  a World’s  Fair, 
and  probably  no  one  is  better  qualified  to  point 
them  out  than  a Chicago  man.  Once  upon  a 
time,  up  in  Fishkill,  there  was  a lady  of  most 
expensive  tastes,  who  had  two  suitors.  She  mar- 
ried one,  and  the  other  moped.  One  day  the 
husband  met  his  disappointed  rival  and  said  to 
him,  “ My  dear  sir,  experience  teaches  me  that 
you  are  a happy  man.” 

Chicago  was  happy  once,  but  she  overlooked 
the  fact.  She  undertook  a World’s  Fair,  and 
now  she  knows  what  happiness  was.  True  happi- 
ness consists  largely  in  what  you  don’t  have. 
There  was  once  a fox  who  was  pursued  by  a lot 
of  dogs  and  horses  and  others,  and  as  he  paused 
to  listen  for  the  hounds  upon  his  track,  he  re- 
marked to  himself  that  he  would  be  much  happier 
if  he  had  n’t  a scent.  Let  me  commend  this  sage 
reflection  to  your  care-hunted  millionaires,  and 
suggest  that  if  you  will  come  and  spend  the 
summer  in  Chicago  you  may  easily  test  the 
theory  of  that  subtle  fox. 


CHICAGO . 


197 


And  that  recalls  me  to  my  theme.  Just  think 
of  the  expectant  hosts  that  will  descend  ujDon 
that  city.  We  don’t  mind  the  New  Yorkers 
so  much,  for  they  won’t  expect  anything  of 
us,  and  the  slightest  gentility  will  give  them  a 
pleasant  surprise.  They  will  look  to  find  our 
streets  paved  with  good  intentions,  and  ordinary 
mud  will  be  a relief  to  them.  But  what  will 
Boston  say,  — Boston,  who  writes  to  us  by  way  of 
Albany  that  she  is  disappointed  in  New  York? 
And  Philadelphia,  who  had  a little  trouble  of  her 
own,  — what  won’t  she  say?  And  then  suppose 
we  have  a flock  of  crowned  heads  from  over 
the  water.  You  would  not  mind  such  a thing  at 
all.  You  are  accustomed  to  treat  princes  and 
potentates  with  an  easy  condescension  that  fas- 
cinates them ; but  we  are  lowly  born  and  bashful ; 
and  while  we  sympathize  with  kings  and  queens 
and  mean  to  treat  them  “ square,”  we  lack  the 
tact  which  enables  you  to  check  undue  familiarity 
without  a club.  I suppose  we  shall  need  some, 
and  if  so  we  shall  “stock  up,”  for  we  propose  to 
have  whatever  is  essential  to  correct  hospitality. 
It’s  probably  a good  thing  to  have,  anyway;  for 
tact  is  something  which,  like  the  odor  of  onions, 
clings  to  a man  even  unto  the  third  and  fourth 
generation,  and  it  may  help  the  children  some 
day. 

But  aside  from  such  embarrassments,  and  others 
which  you  will  readily  foresee,  there  are  cer- 


198 


ADDRESSES. 


tain  responsibilities  which  you  escape.  If  the 
Fair  should  prove  to  be  a great  success,  it  will 
be  the  glory  of  the  whole  Nation.  If  it  fail,  alas 
for  Chicago ! None  will  dispute  her  title  to  the 
blame.  Perhaps  Congress,  which  has  already  as- 
sisted her  with  half  a donation  less  the  drawback, 
would  pass  a pension  bill  for  the  relief  of  those 
who  had  been  ruined  in  the  service  of  their  coun- 
try ; but  undoubtedly  the  President,  following  the 
example  of  himself,  would  veto  that  bill,  and  we 
should  be  left  to  do  our  own  suffering,  and  he 
would  probably  get  a third  term.  However,  we 
must  not  complain.  Such  are  the  penalties  of 
greatness.  These  dizzy  heights  are  dangerous. 
It’s  a more  serious  matter  to  fall  from  a pedestal 
than  from  a ditch. 

But,  above  all,  New  York  is  to  be  congratu- 
lated upon  a rare  opportunity  to  show  the  great- 
ness of  her  soul.  She  is  our  foremost  city.  Even 
excluding  New  Jersey  and  Long  Island,  she  is  still 
one  of  the  two  largest  cities  in  the  country.  She 
is  the  pride  of  the  whole  Nation,  and,  by  the  way, 
she  is  not  so  stupid  as  to  be  wholly  unconscious 
of  her  own  superiority.  Even  Rome,  in  all  her 
glory,  with  sevenfold  her  opportunity,  did  not 
surpass  her.  She  sat  upon  her  seven  hills  and 
never  hatched  a President. 

But,  after  all,  there’s  a good  deal  of  America 
over  there  on  the  mainland ; and  it’s  looking  this 
way.  It  has  been  said  that  New  York  is  insular, 


CHICAGO. 


199 


self-centered,  indifferent  to  all  things  off  the  island. 
Will  it  appear  so  in  the  coming  season  of  national 
pride  and  patriotic  effort  ? This  gathering  to- 
night and  the  words  spoken  here  go  far  to  reassure 
us.  It  is  Chicago’s  misfortune  that,  no  matter 
how  unselfishly  she  may  strive  for  the  success  of 
the  Fair,  half  the  world  will  find  her  motives 
wholly  mercenary.  It  is  New  York’s  good  fortune 
that  her  help  and  sympathy  cannot  be  misinter- 
preted. Let  me  commend  this  thought  to  you ; 
and  let  me  add  that  with  a view  to  your  future 
happiness  we  cordially  invite  you  to  be  good  to  us. 
It  is  not  merely  that  we  need  your  practical  aid 
for  the  Fair,  — of  course  we  need  that,  — but  that 
the  men  who  have  sacrificed  so  much  in  the  cause 
that  is  your  cause  and  that  of  every  citizen  should 
have  a generous  support.  I do  not  speak  by  their 
authority.  They  are  not  asking  for  commenda- 
tion ; they  are  not  waiting  for  encouragement ; 
but  they  would  be  strange  men  not  to  be  stimu- 
lated by  your  appreciation  and  grateful  for  a 
hand  outstretched  in  kindliness. 

And  you  have  this  further  consolation,  that 
you  have  escaped  the  dust  and  din  of  preparation, 
and  will  first  see  the  Fair  complete.  It  will  be 
a sudden,  full  sensation.  You  will  see  in  all 
its  finished  beauty  what  poets  and  artists  have 
vaguely  dreamed,  and  in  that  sight  will  be  a 
revelation  of  the  real  sublimity  of  man’s  concep- 
tions and  the  possible  majesty  of  his  handiwork. 


200 


ADDRESSES. 


I care  not  in  what  spirit  you  may  come.  Bring 
but  the  common  sentiment  of  men,  and  that  first 
view  will  print  a picture  on  your  memories  that 
time  will  not  efface. 

And  then,  too,  you  will  see  Chicago,  — the  most 
interesting  city  in  the  world  to  one  who  studies 
the  evolution  of  cities.  Elsewhere  the  phases  of 
developments  have  succeeded  each  other  too 
slowly  to  be  noted  except  in  part  through  the 
imperfect  medium  of  history.  There  the  changes 
have  come  so  rapidly  within  the  field  of  view  that 
the  entire  process  may  be  seen.  The  whole  mar- 
velous transformation,  from  the  trading  post  to 
the  chosen  theatre  of  a world’s  pageant,  has  come 
within  the  range  of  single  lives  yet  far  from  spent. 
We  look  back  to  find  the  origin  and  explanation 
of  Chicago  in  those  forces  which  fixed  the  natural 
highways  of  a vast  and  fertile  territory.  We  see 
her  now,  a field  of  prodigious  activities,  a marvel 
of  brilliant  achievement,  a turbulent  school  of 
sociology.  It  has  fallen  to  this  generation  to 
see  the  elements  of  society  in  violent  agitation ; 
and  just  now  the  storm-center  seems  to  be  over 
Chicago.  What  the  result  may  be  let  him  declare 
who  knows  the  scope  of  wisdom  and  the  limita- 
tions of  folly.  We  only  know  that  in  that  city  men 
are  being  molded  by  the  pressure  of  events ; 
that  the  incessant  urgency  of  life,  adding  each 
day  a little  to  the  task  of  yesterday,  a little  also 


CHICAGO. 


201 


to  the  strength  of  yesterday,  is  breeding  a race  of 
men  fit  for  responsibilities;  and  that  the  same 
energy  which  has  made  her  in  half  a century 
a great  spectacular  city,  is  now  surely  tending 
toward  the  better  purpose  of  her  life. 


“CATTING.” 


Reprinted,  by  Kind  Permission,  from  “Forest  and 
Stream.” 

IN  the  “ Tennessee  Fish  Notes,”  by  J.  D.  H., 
in  the  “ Forest  and  Stream  ” of  May  1 1,  we  are 
told  that  “ Mr.  Poole  caught  a yellow  cat  out 
of  the  river  the  other  day,  with  ordinary  tackle 
which  weighed  sixty-one  pounds.” 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  details  of  this 
affair  are  not  given.  It  would  be  interesting  to 
know  how  the  cat  happened  to  be  in  the  river,  — 
whether  by  accident  or  design;  and  all  sports- 
men will  be  eager  to  know  something  more  about 
the  tackle  used  by  Mr.  Poole.  It  is  said  to  have 
been  the  “ ordinary  tackle  which  weighed  sixty- 
one  pounds,”  and  perhaps  the  Tennesseeans  who 
devote  themselves  to  this  particular  sport  under- 
stand exactly  what  is  meant;  but  in  the  North, 
where  the  cats  found  in  water  are  generally  too 
stale  to  entice  the  angler,  the  statement  cannot 
fail  to  excite  some  speculation.  The  tackle, 
weighing  only  sixty-one  pounds,  could  hardly 
have  been  a derrick  or  a dredging-machine, — 
although  the  latter  would  seem  to  be  well  adapted 
for  the  purpose,  — and  it  was  manifestly  some- 


ca  tting: 


203 


thing  heavier  than  a rake,  a scoop-shovel,  or  a 
pair  of  tongs. 

In  view  of  the  well-known  predilection  of  cats 
for  live  bait,  it  may  have  been  a big  dog  on  a 
string,  or  a mouse  suspended  on  a log-chain, 
according  as  it  is  customary  in  such  cases  for  the 
bait  to  take  the  game  or  for  the  game  to  take 
the  bait.  It  certainly  seems  probable  that  in  a 
stream  well  stocked  with  cats,  a small  water- 
spaniel  — say  a brown  hackle  — on  a light  cast- 
ing-line and  fly-rod  would  afford  excellent  sport. 
Such  tackle  need  not  weigh  over  thirty  pounds. 
Mr.  Poole  seems  to  have  used  a larger  dog  than 
was  necessary.  The  smaller-sized  would  be 
better  for  casting,  and  would  make  the  contest 
more  uncertain,  and  therefore  more  sportsman- 
like. 

Just  how  we  are  to  induce  the  cats  to  take 
to  the  water  in  sufficient  numbers  to  make  this 
sport  popular  with  the  fishing  fraternity  may  not 
be  clear;  but  it  is  evident  that  the  surplus  kit- 
tens of  our  large  cities,  after  being  accustomed 
to  city  milk,  cannot  have  any  serious  antipathy 
to  the  purer  water  of  the  pond  and  stream. 

Certainly  this  subject  is  worthy  the  careful 
attention  of  our  fishculturists  and  sporting  clubs. 
Just  as  we  are  beginning  to  realize  and  mourn 
over  the  rapid  extermination  of  our  game  fish 
and  animals,  a new  sport  with  an  inexhaustible 
supply  of  material  is  at  hand. 


204 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


Take,  for  example,  a single  block  in  New 
York,  occupied  by  say  one  hundred  house- 
holders. Each  one  of  these  would  cheerfully 
spare  a hundred  cats  from  his  neighborhood. 
This  makes  ten  thousand  cats  to  the  block  avail- 
able for  our  purpose ; and  of  course  there  are 
plenty  of  dogs  out  of  business  who  might  thus 
be  furnished  with  pleasant  employment  and  a 
reason  for  existence. 

We  hope  to  hear  further  from  Mr.  Poole  on 
this  interesting  topic. 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN  TO 
HIS  OWN  PROPERTY. 

Reprinted,  by  Kind  Permission,  from  “ Scribner’s 
Magazine.' 

IT  is  quite  beyond  the  purpose  of  this  article  to 
discuss  the  origin  or  development  of  the  idea 
of  property,  or  the  history  of  the  various  conces- 
sions which  the  individual  owner  has  been  com- 
pelled to  make  to  the  public  necessity.  PYom 
time  to  time  within  the  history  of  the  common 
law,  the  people  have  secured  for  themselves  safe- 
guards against  the  exactions  of  the  government, 
until  it  has  become  the  maxim  of  modern  civili- 
zation that  no  citizen  shall  be  deprived  of  life, 
liberty,  or  property,  without  due  process  of  law; 
and  from  time  to  time  the  exigencies  of  society 
have  compelled  the  surrender  of  individual  prefer- 
ences, privileges,  and  rights  to  the  needs  of  the 
government,  or  the  community,  until  the  citizen 
holds  his  property  subject  to  the  requirements  of 
the  State,  and  may  not  devote  it  to  any  use  pre- 
judicial to  the  interests  of  the  public,  or,  within  cer- 
tain limits,  tending  to  the  injury  of  his  neighbor. 


206 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


Thus,  he  may  own  a city  lot,  in  that  he  may 
sell  it  and  appropriate  the  proceeds  to  his  own 
use,  or  give  it  to  aid  some  benevolent  object,  or 
devise  it  to  his  family  or  friends,  or  build  upon  it 
some  structure  in  which  he  may  reside  or  conduct 
his  business  without  payment  of  rent;  but  if  he 
sell  or  devise,  he  must  conform  to  laws  regulating 
conveyances  or  wills,  framed  for  the  protection  of 
titles;  if  he  build,  he  must  observe  municipal 
ordinances  designed  to  promote  the  public  safety; 
if  he  occupy  it,  he  must  regard  the  health,  com- 
fort, and  property  rights  of  his  neighbors.  He 
may  claim  protection  by  the  law  in  the  proper 
and  peaceable  enjoyment  of  his  property  ; but  his 
property  must  pay  its  ratable  share  of  the  expense 
of  maintaining  order,  and  providing  the  conven- 
iences of  urban  life,  under  penalty  of  confiscation. 
The  State  cannot  arbitrarily  dispossess  him  and 
bestow  his  land  upon  another  without  compensa- 
tion ; but  it  may  seize  his  property  and  apply  it 
to  the  payment  of  his  debts  ; it  may  destroy  his 
house  to  save  others,  or  appropriate  his  land  to 
public  uses,  upon  payment  of  compensation  to  be 
determined  by  its  legal  machinery. 

At  the  present  day  it  would  be  difficult  to 
specify  any  class  of  property  held  by  the  private 
citizen,  wholly  exempt  from  the  claims  of  the 
public  as  represented  by  the  State.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  would  be  painful  to  contemplate  social 
conditions  under  which  absolute  rights  of  individ- 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN.  20 7 


uals  could  be  maintained.  The  power  to  tax  the 
citizen  and  his  property  is  one  which  is  granted 
of  necessity  to  every  State  by  its  citizens,  and  is 
based  upon  theories  of  public  necessity  and  the 
equitable  distribution  of  the  expenses  of  govern- 
ment. So  long  as  it  is  exercised  for  a public 
purpose  and  with  uniformity,  according  to  the 
value  of  property,  this  power  is  limited  only  by 
the  discretion  of  the  legislature.  The  only  secu- 
rity against  wanton  abuse  of  it  is  found  in  our 
representative  form  of  government.  Those  who 
are  chosen  for  their  special  fitness  to  represent 
the  common  interests  of  all ; who  must  suffer  in 
their  own  estates  the  penalty  of  unwise  or  extrava- 
gant taxation  ; who  are  responsible  to  their  con- 
stituents for  every  dereliction  of  their  sacred  trust, 
and  whose  fair  fame  is,  of  course,  dearer  to  them 
than  the  possible  gains  of  official  corruption, — 
such  men  will  hardly  abuse  this  tremendous  power 
for  personal  advantage. 

This  is  the  theory  of  our  government, — that 
legislators  and  local  officers  will  be  inspired  by 
zeal  for  the  public  welfare ; and  there  is  here 
and  there  an  optimist  who  finds  circumstantial 
evidence  of  this  inspiration  in  the  history  of  his 
own  time — and  party.  In  theory,  as  it  is  stated 
by  eminent  authority,  “the  legislature  cannot,  in 
the  form  of  a tax,  take  the  money  of  the  citizens 
and  give  it  to  an  individual,  the  public  interest  or 
welfare  being  in  no  way  connected  with  the  trans- 


208 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


action.”  So,  in  theory,  justices  of  the  peace 
cannot  grant  divorces  ; but  a Western  justice  punc- 
tured this  theory  recently  by  the  remark  that  he 
knew  better  — as  he  had  granted  several  himself. 

This  power  with  which  the  State  is  so  liberally 
endowed  is  by  it  delegated,  in  part,  to  the  muni- 
cipal and  quasi-municipal  corporations  created 
for  the  administration  of  local  government; 
though  in  some  States  the  power  of  such  corpo- 
rations to  raise  money  by  general  taxation  is 
limited  to  a certain  percentage  of  the  assessed 
value  of  property  within  the  district  of  taxation ; 
but  special  assessments  of  property  for  local  pub- 
lic improvements,  which  may  be  considered  as  a 
form  of  taxation,  may  be  carried  to  such  extent 
as  may  be  required  by  public  necessity  or  the 
local  spirit  of  enterprise ; provided  only  that  the 
proposed  improvement  shall  be  of  a public  char- 
acter, and  that  the  cost  thereof  shall  be  levied  on 
lands  according  to  the  estimated  benefit  to  be 
conferred,  or,  in  some  States,  in  cases  of  street 
improvement,  according  to  frontage  on  the  street. 
The  legal  machinery  by  means  of  which  this 
power  of  taxation  is  exercised,  is  too  complex  for 
description  here,  even  with  reference  to  a single 
State ; but  it  may  be  said  in  general  terms  that  it 
involves  the  assessment  of  values  or  special  bene- 
fits, as  the  case  may  be,  by  an  officer  or  board 
elected  for  that  purpose;  and  that  there  is,  in 
most  States  and  cities,  great  scope  for  injustice 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN. 


209 


by  means  of  excessive  and  unequal  assessments, 
as  well  as  by  extravagant  and  unnecessary  ex- 
penditure of  public  money. 

When  the  extent  of  this  power  is  considered,  in 
connection  with  the  opportunities  for  its  abuse 
by  incompetent  or  corrupt  officers,  it  will  be 
seen  that  the  citizen’s  right  to  his  “ own  ” prop- 
erty falls  somewhat  short  of  absolute  dominion. 

In  addition  to  this  powe'r  of  taxation,  there  is 
inherent  in  every  sovereignty  the  power  to  take, 
damage,  or  destroy  the  property  of  the  citizen,  in 
the  interest  of  the  public,  by  the  exercise  of  that 
superior  right  of  property  known  as  the  Eminent 
Domain. 

This  power  may  be  invoked  for  various  objects, 
as  for  the  construction  of  railroads,  canals,  public 
streets,  roads  and  bridges,  parks,  water-works, 
ferries,  drains,  schoolhouses,  cemeteries,  mills,  — 
in  some  States,  — and  other  works  of  public  neces- 
sity or  convenience,  upon  condition  that  com- 
pensation shall  be  awarded  and  paid  to  the 
owner.  In  certain  States  it  is  provided  by  statute 
that  the  proper  compensation  shall  be  determined 
by  a jury,  and  paid  by  the  State  or  corporation 
seeking  condemnation  of  property,  before  taking 
possession ; but  this  rule  is  not  uniform,  or  essen- 
tial to  the  protection  of  the  citizen.  In  several 
States  the  assessment  or  award  is  made  by  com- 
missioners appointed  for  the  purpose,  and  pay- 
ment of  compensation  is  not  a condition  precedent 

14 


210 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


to  taking  possession,  the  owner  being  remitted  to 
his  legal  action  to  enforce  payment. 

Thus  the  citizen  must  consider  his  property  at 
all  times  as  for  sale  to  the  city,  if  needed  for 
streets  or  public  grounds  or  buildings  ; to  a rail- 
road company  if  required  for  its  purposes,  or  to 
such  other  of  the  several  public  corporations, 
permitted  by  the  State  to  exercise  the  right  of 
eminent  domain,  as  may  find  it  necessary  or 
convenient;  and  at  a price  to  be  fixed  by  a jury 
or  commission,  which  is  limited  to  the  actual 
market  value  of  the  property  in  cash ; and  in 
case  of  the  interruption  or  destruction  of  his  busi- 
ness, he  may  be  awarded  compensation  for  in- 
juries resulting  directly  from  the  condemnation, 
but  not  for  others  perhaps  quite  as  real  and 
serious,  but  not  clearly  demonstrable  under  the 
rules  of  evidence. 

Or,  if  his  property  be  applied  to  any  use,  or 
occupied  in  any  manner,  declared  by  the  legis- 
lature or  the  courts  to  be  prejudicial  to  the  pub- 
lic welfare,  the  “ nuisance  ” so  created  may  be 
abated  by  summary  means  and  without  compen- 
sation, even  though  it  involve  the  destruction  of 
buildings  or  render  the  property  practically 
worthless  by  prohibition  of  the  only  use  to  which 
it  is  adapted. 

This  “police  power”  of  the  State,  as  it  is 
termed,  is  one  of  vast  scope,  and  its  limitations 
may  not  be  readily  defined.  Indeed,  certain 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN. 


2 1 1 


recent  opinions,  emanating  from  courts  of  high 
authority,  seem  to  warrant  the  definition  of  this 
power  as  the  general  authority  of  the  legislature 
to  supervise  and  control  all  business  transacted 
within  the  State  to  such  extent  as  it  may  deem 
expedient  for  the  public  good. 

In  the  year  1876  this  question  was  presented 
to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  in 
various  forms,  by  a series  of  appeals  from  State 
courts  in  what  are  known  as  the  “ Granger 
Cases;  ” and  we  have  but  to  examine  the  opin- 
ions filed  in  those  cases,  and  certain  later  adjudi- 
cations by  the  same  court,  if  we  would  escape 
the  popular  fallacy  that  a man  really  owns  his 
own  property. 

In  1871  the  Legislature  of  Illinois  defined  and 
classified  public  warehouses,  and  fixed  a maxi- 
mum rate  to  be  charged  for  storage  of  grain. 
Certain  private  citizens  of  Chicago,  who  had 
erected  extensive  elevator  buildings  and  were 
engaged  as  co-partners  in  carrying  on  the  busi- 
ness of  receiving  and  storing  grain  therein  at  the 
time  of  the  enactment  in  question,  failed  to  take 
out  a license  under  the  new  law,  or  to  comply 
with  its  provisions  relating  to  rates  of  storage, 
and  were  prosecuted.  This  case  necessarily  pre- 
sented certain  questions  of  great  importance 
touching  the  right  of  the  individual  to  the  use 
and  control  of  his  own  property.  It  was  not  the 
case  of  a corporation,  to  which  had  been  given 


212 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


extraordinary  powers  to  equip  it  for  public  ser- 
vice, and  which  was  therefore  subject  to  control 
by  the  public ; nor  did  it  present  any  of  those 
questions  relating  to  the  public  health,  safety,  or 
morals,  which  would  clearly  justify  the  interven- 
tion of  the  police  power  of  the  State.  The 
Supreme  Court  of  Illinois,  by  a bare  majority, 
held  the  law  to  be  valid,  although  it  was  argued 
with  great  force  on  behalf  of  the  warehousemen 
that  it  was  unconstitutional,  in  that  it  operated  to 
deprive  them  of  their  property  without  due  pro- 
cess of  law.  The  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States  affirmed  this  decision  by  a majority  opin- 
ion, in  which  it  is  expressly  stated  that  the  case 
has  received  long  and  careful  consideration  “ on 
account  of  the  vast  importance  of  the  questions 
involved.”  In  that  case  the  Court  concluded 
from  the  facts  of  record  that  the  proprietors  of 
elevators  in  Chicago  enjoyed  a “ virtual  monop- 
oly ” of  a business  which  was  of  general  interest 
and  public  character,  and  stated  the  law  as  appli- 
cable to  the  case  in  these  words  : “ Property  does 
become  clothed  with  a public  interest  when  used 
in  a manner  to  make  it  of  public  consequence  and 
affect  the  community  at  large.  When,  therefore, 
one  devotes  his  property  to  a use  in  which  the 
public  has  an  interest , he,  in  effect,  grants  to  the 
public  an  interest  in  that  use,  and  must  submit  to 
be  controlled  by  the  public  for  the  common  good, 
to  the  extent  of  the  interest  he  has  thus  created.” 


THE  EIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN. 


213 


This  language  has  been  severely  criticised  by 
lawyers  and  judges,  and  by  none  more  severely 
than  by  the  dissenting  members  of  the  Supreme 
Court.  Mr.  Justice  Field  says,  in  the  same  case: 
“ If  this  be  sound  law,  if  there  be  no  protection 
either  in  the  principles  upon  which  our  republi- 
can government  is  founded,  or  in  the  prohibitions 
of  the  Constitution  against  such  invasion  of  pri- 
vate rights,  all  property  and  all  business  in  the 
State  are  held  at  the  mercy  of  a majority  of  its 
legislature.  The  public  has  no  greater  interest 
in  the  use  of  buildings  for  the  storage  of  grain 
than  it  has  in  the  use  of  buildings  for  the  resi- 
dences of  families,  nor,  indeed,  anything  like  so 
great  an  interest;  and  according  to  the  doctrine 
announced,  the  legislature  may  fix  the  rent  of  all 
tenements  used  for  residences,  without  reference 
to  the  cost  of  their  erection.  If  the  owner  does 
not  like  the  rates  prescribed,  he  may  cease  renting 
his  houses.” 

In  a series  of  railroad  cases  decided  after  the 
warehouse  case,  and  in  which  the  Court  held  that 
the  legislatures  of  the  several  States  might  regu- 
late the  rates  to  be  charged  by  railroads  for  trans- 
portation of  passengers  and  freight,  and  that, 
although  the  roads  were  entitled  to  reasonable 
compensation,  the  legislature  alone  could  deter- 
mine what  was  “ reasonable,”  Mr.  Justice  Field, 
in  a dissenting  opinion  on  behalf  of  himself  and 
Mr.  Justice  Strong,  remarks  with  reference  to  the 


214 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE . 


warehouse  case,  which  the  Court  had  followed  as 
a precedent,  that  “ that  decision,  in  its  wide  sweep, 
practically  destroys  all  the  guaranties  of  the  Con- 
stitution and  of  the  common  law  invoked  by 
counsel  for  the  protection  of  the  rights  of  the 
railroad  companies  ; ” and  again : “ that  decision 
will  justify  the  legislature  in  fixing  the  price  of 
all  articles  and  the  compensation  for  all  services. 
It  sanctions  intermeddling  with  all  business  and 
pursuits  and  property  in  the  community,  leaving 
the  use  and  enjoyment  of  property  and  the  com- 
pensation for  its  use  to  the  discretion  of  the  legis- 
lature.” It  may  be  argued,  of  course,  that  the 
declaration  of  the  Court  in  the  warehouse  case, 
so  far  as  it  applies  to  other  classes  of  property 
than  that  directly  in  controversy  in  that  case,  may 
be  regarded  as  a mere  dictum  ; but  as  it  is  a care- 
fully considered  statement  of  the  general  prin- 
ciple on  which  the  decision  is  based,  and  as  the 
same  Court  has  not  seen  fit  to  modify  it  materially 
in  any  of  the  later  cases  in  which  it  has  been  dis- 
cussed and  criticised,  it  must  be  taken  as  the  de- 
liberate exposition,  by  our  highest  tribunal,  of  the 
relative  rights  of  the  public  and  the  individual 
citizen  to  that  which  the  latter  is  accustomed  to 
call  his  own  property. 

If  it  be  the  law  of  the  land  that  the  citizen  who 
“ devotes  his  property  to  a use  in  which  the 
public  has  an  interest,”  or  enjoys  a “ virtual 
monopoly,”  must  submit  to  be  controlled  by  the 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN. 


215 


public  to  the  extent  of  its  interest  therein,  and  if 
even  his  right  to  a reasonable  compensation  for 
the  use  of  his  property  or  his  services  in  connec- 
tion therewith  mean  nothing  more  than  the  right 
to  receive  whatever  the  legislature  shall  arbi- 
trarily declare  to  be  a reasonable  compensation, 
it  is  but  a step  — if  at  all  — further  to  the  doctrine 
that  the  public  may  also  determine  for  itself,  and 
finally,  when  property  is  “ used  in  a manner  to 
make  it  of  public  consequence  and  affect  the 
community  at  large,”  or,  in  other  words,  when 
it,  the  public,  “has  an  interest”  therein;  and 
then  it  may  be  said,  in  general  terms,  that  a 
man’s  right  to  his  property  depends  upon  the 
will  of  the  legislative  majority.  When  we  con- 
sider the  infinite  subdivision  of  labor,  the  inter- 
dependence of  trades,  professions,  and  all  the 
business  classes,  and  the  complicated  and  deli- 
cately adjusted  mechanism  of  that  great  modern 
engine  called  Commerce,  it  is  really  not  easy  to 
say  what  legitimate,  well  managed,  and  success- 
ful business  may  not  be  considered  to  be  of 
“ public  consequence,”  or  to  “ affect  the  com- 
munity at  large,”  and  therefore  to  be  subject  to 
public  control. 

It  is  possible,  of  course,  that  the  Supreme 
Court  has  gone  no  further  than  would  be  con- 
sistent with  a proper  theory  of  society,  based 
upon  modern  conditions.  On  that  question  I 
shall  venture  no  opinion.  But,  tested  by  the 


21 6 


FRA  G ME  NTS  IN  PROSE. 


principles  and  precedents  by  which  it  professes 
to  be  guided,  its  language  in  this  case  seems  to 
be  singularly  inaccurate,  ■ — a fault  not  often  to  be 
found  in  its  opinions,  — and  must  inevitably  tend 
to  encourage  usurpation  by  legislative  majorities. 
There  is,  indeed,  some  indication  of  late  that  the 
Court  perceives  this,  and  is  disposed  to  qualify 
its  former  doctrine.  In  a recent  case,  decided  in 
March,  1890,  a statute  of  Minnesota,  enacted  in 
1887,  creating  a railroad  and  warehouse  commis- 
sion, and  providing  that  all  charges  for  transpor- 
tation “ shall  be  equal  and  reasonable,”  and 
empowering  the  commission  to  compel  a carrier' 
to  adopt  such  rates  as  the  commission  “ shall  de- 
clare to  be  equal  and  reasonable,”  without  provid- 
ing for  any  hearing  before  the  commission,  was 
held  to  be  unconstitutional,  as  depriving  carriers 
of  their  property  without  due  process  of  law.  The 
question  of  the  reasonableness  of  the  rate  charged 
is  said  by  the  Court  to  be  “ eminently  a ques- 
tion for  judicial  investigation,  requiring  due  pro- 
cess of  law  for  its  determination.”  This  is  clearly 
a modification  of  the  doctrine  laid  down  in  the 
warehouse  case  and  the  “ Granger  Cases  ” already 
referred  to,  — so  clearly  that  Mr.  Justice  Bradley, 
in  a dissenting  opinion,  declares  that  it  “ prac- 
tically overrules  ” those  cases,  in  which,  he  says, 
the  governing  principle  was  that  the  regulation 
of  such  rates,  and  the  determination  of  their 
reasonableness,  is  strictly  a legislative  preroga- 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN.  21 7 

tive,  and  not  a judicial  one.  In  this  case,  more- 
over, the  Court  appears  to  modify  somewhat  its 
former  views  as  to  what  constitutes  the  “ prop- 
erty ” of  the  citizen  and  the  “ deprivation  ” which 
is  prohibited  by  the  Constitution,  except  upon 
compensation  and  by  due  process  of  law ; but  it 
has  not  greatly  changed  its  doctrine  concerning 
the  “ police  power  ” of  the  State.  It  leaves  wide 
open  still  the  question  as  to  what  business  may 
be  subject  to  public  control  because  of  general 
interest  to  the  community.  Indeed,  in  a still 
later  case,  now  popularly  known  as  the  “ Orig- 
inal Package  Case,”  three  of  the  Associate  Jus- 
tices unite  in  declaring  that  “ the  police  power 
includes  all  measures  for  the  protection  of  the 
life,  the  health,  the  property,  and  the  welfare 
of  the  inhabitants,  and  for  the  promotion  of  good 
order  and  the  public  morals.” 

Giving  full  force  to  the  very  comprehensive 
terms  used  by  the  Supreme  Court,  it  would  be 
safe  to  say  that  the  property  of  the  citizen  is 
subject  to  such  control  by  the  public  as  the 
latter  may  be  interested  to  exercise,  but  hazard- 
ous to  attempt  to  define  the  classes  of  private 
property  which  are  or  may  be  clothed  with  such 
a public  interest  as  to  justify  interference  by  the 
government.  But  for  the  fact  that  the  Supreme 
Court  must  be  presumed  to  understand  the  lan- 
guage of  the  country,  in  both  its  technical  and 
ordinary  acceptations,  one  might  guess  with  some 


218 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


reason  that  it  had  been  careless  in  stating  the 
doctrine  in  question,  and  that  its  opinion  in  the 
•warehouse  case  ought  not  to  be  taken  as  a pre- 
cedent, except  in  cases  where  property  is  devoted 
to  a public  service.  Within  this  limitation  the 
doctrine  has  since  been  extended  to  “ grist  ” 
mills  and  waterworks.  In  the  “ Civil  Rights 
Cases”  it  was  said  by  Mr.  Justice  Harlan  to  be 
applicable  to  places  of  public  amusement,  since 
they  are  used  in  a manner  to  make  them  of  pub- 
lic consequence  and  affect  the  community  at 
large;  but  I am  not  advised  of  any  case  in 
which  it  has  been  applied  to  clergymen,  under- 
takers, or  certain  others  whose  services  affect  the 
community. 

As  to  corporate  property,  courts  and  legisla- 
tures have  left  small  room  for  discussion.  If  any 
stockholder  needs  to  be  further  admonished  of 
the  fact  that  corporations  are  but  creatures  of  the 
people,  let  him  await  the  next  judicial  utterance 
on  the  subject.  It  will  not  be  long  delayed;  for 
just  now  the  excellent  doctrine  of  corporate  sub- 
jection is  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  asserts  itself 
with  frequency  and  vigor.  The  president  of  a 
well-known  railway  company  recently  published 
an  article  advocating  the  purchase  and  operation 
of  railroads  by  the  government.  It  was  regarded 
by  many  as  a grim  jest ; but  inasmuch  as  the  gov- 
ernment has  already  assumed  so  largely  the  con- 
trol of  their  operation,  the  proposition  of  the 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN. 


219 


stockholders,  that  the  public  should  assume  also 
the  risk  and  expense  of  operating  them,  is  not  so 
obvious  a joke  as  to  pass  without  challenge.  It 
should  be  observed,  however,  that  the  inconsis- 
tencies and  excesses  of  the  public,  in  its  treat- 
ment of  this  subject,  do  not  necessarily  condemn 
the  whole  procedure.  The  old  doctrine  of  the 
vested  rights  and  sacred  charters  of  corporations 
was  founded  on  error,  and  came  to  be  recognized 
as  dangerous  to  interests  far  more  important  than 
the  gains  of  stockholders.  It  was  time  for  gov- 
ernment to  realize  that  it  had  no  right  to  abdicate 
its  trust, — that  it  had  no  power  to  grant  irrevo- 
cable privileges,  as  against  the  general  welfare  of 
the  people.  At  present  this  newly  awakened 
solicitude  for  the  public  weal  seems  likely  to 
carry  us  beyond  the  bounds  of  temperate  action  ; 
but  it  cannot  be  that  we,  as  a people,  shall  long 
ignore  the  folly  of  discouraging  enterprise  and 
intimidating  capital  by  petty  restrictions  and 
unjust  discriminations.  We  shall  soon  cease  to 
regard  corporations  as  the  natural  foes  of  good 
government.  We  may  even  come  to  regard  the 
prevailing  hostility  to  these  agents  of  government 
as  an  oblique  menace  to  the  State  itself,  — espe- 
cially when  expressed  by  combinations  formed 
and  maintained  at  the  expense  of  the  public. 

At  the  time  when  these  words  are  written,  the 
operations  of  a great  Western  railway  are  sus- 
pended because  of  a “ strike  ; ” and  this  con- 


220 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


certed  action  of  an  army  of  employees  is  based 
upon  the  refusal  of  the  railway  company  to  dis- 
miss an  efficient  but  unpopular  superintendent. 
The  public,  which  has  been  so  eager  to  curb  the 
rights  of  stockholders,  who  draw  dividends  from 
the  business  conducted  on  their  capital,  is  in- 
different to  the  action  of  these  employees  who 
draw  wages  for  their  labor  in  the  same  business. 
If  the  corporation  is  held  to  strict  performance 
of  its  duty  as  a public  servant,  should  not  its 
agents,  who  live  upon  its  business,  be  held  to 
some  account,  — at  least  for  combinations  made 
to  obstruct  a public  service  as  a means  to  satisfy 
the  personal  grudge  of  a few  individuals? 

There  remains  but  one  other  right  of  the  citi- 
zen, concerning  his  own  property,  to  be  consid- 
ered. He  is  permitted  to  give  it  away,  under 
certain  restrictions.  During  his  lifetime  he  may 
bestow  it  gratis , except  that  he  may  not  thereby 
impair  the  rights  of  his  wife  or  creditors,  or 
divest  it  of  the  burden  imposed  by  the  public ; 
and,  dying,  he  may  dispose  of  it  by  will,  subject 
to  similar  charges,  and,  in  some  States,  certain 
statutory  rights  of  children,  and  succession  taxes. 
Observing  these  proper  conditions,  the  citizen 
may  give  away  his  property  ad  libitum ; and  it 
has  long  been  a matter  of  surprise  and  regret  — 
at  least,  to  the  impecunious  philosopher  — that  so 
few  avail  themselves  of  this  privilege  during  their 
lifetime.  The  records  of  our  courts  teem  with 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  THE  CITIZEN. 


221 


cases  in  which  the  intentions  of  testators  have 
been  defeated  by  legal  technicalities  invoked  by 
greedy  heirs ; and  it  would  seem  that  this  con- 
stantly recurring  spectacle  ought  to  deter  men 
from  confiding  their  property  exclusively  to 
courts  for  distribution. 

One  may  excuse  the  merchant  who  accumu- 
lates to  gratify  a commercial  ambition,  and  uses 
his  millions  as  fuel  for  legitimate  enterprise,  or 
the  man  of  any  class  who  seeks  to  assure  the 
comfort  of  those  dependent  upon  him;  but  for 
those  men  — not  a few  — who  by  inheritance  or 
otherwise  have  acquired  wealth  far  in  excess  of 
their  proper  need  or  the  need  of  those  to  whom 
they  owe  the  debts  of  kinship,  and  cling  to  it  for 
the  mere  satisfaction  of  seeing  it  increase  and 
feeling  the  sense  of  ownership,  there  ought  to  be 
no  forgiveness  on  earth.  At  such  men  is  aimed 
the  last  suggestion  of  this  paper,  — that  the  right, 
with  reference  to  his  own  property,  in  which  the 
citizen  is  least  restrained,  is  the  right  to  give  it 
away;  and  that  this  right  is  of  all  the  most 
precious  to  him  who  sees  the  just  relation  of 
property  to  human  happiness. 


MR.  JONES’S  EXPERIMENT. 


Reprinted,  by  Kind  Permission,  from  “ The  Century 
Magazine.” 

Mr.  F.  MANDEVILLE  JONES  was  slowly 
recovering  from  a fever,  which  had  re- 
lented only  after  the  doctors  had  given  him  up 
and  his  friends  had  begun  to  enumerate  his  good 
qualities;  and  in  the  seclusion  of  the  sick-room 
he  reflected  long  and  seriously  upon  the  life 
which  he  had  been  about  to  submit,  as  a closed 
record,  for  judgment. 

With  keen  introspection  he  sought  out  the 
flaws  in  his  character,  analyzing  the  motives  of 
action,  testing  principles,  and  criticising  the 
method  and  result  of  all  his  life.  He  was  a 
bachelor  of  mature  age  and  comfortable  fortune, 
a fairly  successful  lawyer,  of  good  social  posi- 
tion, correct  habits,  and  genial  nature,  — in  short, 
a gentleman  of  parts  and  a most  acceptable 
member  of  society. 

Thus,  at  least,  he  was  rated  by  the  world,  and 
thus,  in  his  casual  moments  of  self-examination, 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  himself.  But 
now,  solemnized  by  the  recent  near  approach  of 
death,  and  with  new  clearness  of  vision,  he  stud- 
ied the  being  that  he  had  been  and  knew  him- 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT. 


223 


self  for  what  he  really  was,  — a dishonest  man ; 
that  is,  conventional  and  insincere. 

He  reviewed  with  impartial  scrutiny  his  social 
relations,  and  was  forced  to  admit  that  he  had 
not  spoken  and  lived  the  truth,  — the  real  truth 
of  his  conscience. 

Day  by  day  he  had  politely  lied,  courteously 
repressed  his  real  feeling,  and  amiably  concurred 
in  that  which  he  knew  to  be  false,  until  deception 
had  become  the  unconscious  habit  of  his  life; 
and  brooding  over  this  unwelcome  fact,  he  so 
magnified  his  fault  that  it  assumed  the  propor- 
tions of  a deadly  sin,  from  which  he  must  find 
deliverance  at  any  cost.  He  resolved  that  with 
the  return  of  strength  he  would  enter  upon  a new 
life.  He  would  in  all  things  and  at  all  hazards  be 
simply  true  to  himself  and  to  the  obvious  prin- 
ciples of  rectitude. 

He  now  clearly  perceived  that  the  bane  of 
modern  society  is  the  affectation  of  feeling  or 
sentiment,  and  that  the  so-called  amenities  of  life 
are  often  hardly  more  than  facile  deceptions, 
serving  merely  to  mitigate  the  harshness  of  hon- 
est facts ; and  of  course  that  the  sin  of  society  is 
but  the  prevalent  fault  of  its  individual  members, 
and  that  all  social  reforms  must  originate  with  the 
individual. 

He  realized  that  the  duty  to  which  he  had 
resolved  to  devote  himself  would  be  exacting  and 
difficult;  but  to  shirk  it  for  that  reason  would  be 


224 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


unworthy  of  him  regenerate.  And  again  and 
again,  during  the  long  period  of  his  convales- 
cence, he  renewed  his  resolution  and  rehearsed 
the  glories  of  his  certain  victory  over  the  sins  of 
duplicity,  until  he  became  an  enthusiast,  or  per- 
haps a monomaniac,  on  the  subject  of  truth  as  a 
rule  of  conduct,  and  longed  for  the  field  of 
action.  Yet  with  all  his  zeal  he  intended  to  be 
reasonable.  He  would  not  gratuitously  affront 
society  by  noisy  declamation,  or  assert  himself 
inopportunely  or  unchallenged.  He  would  not 
give  way  to  unworthy  impulses  simply  because 
they  were  real ; but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  would 
not  blink  the  truth  according  to  his  conscience, 
however  unwelcome,  whenever  he  should  be 
properly  put  in  evidence. 

After  careful  consideration  of  his  physical  con- 
dition and  rate  of  improvement  he  was  confident 
that  by  the  opening  of  the  new  year,  then  close 
at  hand,  he  would  have  quite  regained  his 
strength  and  be  ready  to  resume  his  place  in  the 
social  world ; and  he  would  then  resolutely  take 
up  the  task  of  honest  living. 

The  eventful  day  arrived,  and  Mr.  Jones  sallied 
forth  with  two  great  resolutions;  whereof  the 
major  has  been  sufficiently  indicated,  and  the 
minor  may  be  guessed  when  it  is  known  that 
he  bent  his  steps  toward  the  home  of  Miss  Stella 
Van  Riper. 

Mr.  Jones  belonged  to  that  class  of  bachelors 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT.  225 

known  as  eligible.  For  some  years  he  had  pre- 
served his  autonomy  without  apparent  reason ; 
and  recent  meditations  upon  the  duty  of  man 
and  the  exceptional  qualities  of  Miss  Van  Riper 
having  shown  him  the  error  of  his  way,  he  had 
resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  gaining  the  right 
path, — which  he  fondly  hoped  to  do  by  means 
of  a frank  declaration  to  this  lady  of  the  exact 
state  of  his  feelings,  in  which,  of  course,  he 
would  state  the  whole  truth  and  nothing  but 
the  truth. 

He  was  received  on  this  occasion  with  that 
cordiality  which  Miss  Van  Riper  always  mani- 
fested toward  gentlemen  whose  calls  were  fre- 
quent enough  to  indicate  a probable  purpose, 
and  with  perhaps  a certain  superadded  warmth 
due  to  her  considerable  interest  in  him  and  con- 
sequent joy  over  his  restoration  to  health  and 
her  society. 

After  an  hour  of  preliminary  conversation, 
commencing  with  a recital  by  him  of  the  inter- 
esting features  of  his  recent  illness,  continued  by 
the  enumeration  of  similar  cases,  and  ending 
with  a polite  but  not  extravagant  avowal  of  the 
pleasure  experienced  in  the  renewal  of  their 
friendly  intercourse,  Mr.  Jones  found  himself  at 
the  brink  of  opportunity  and  poised  for  the 
fateful  plunge. 

Miss  Van  Riper,  with  a woman’s  quick  percep- 
tion of  great  moments,  assumed  the  attitude  of 

15 


226 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


genuine  and  yet  not  painful  surprise,  with  the 
right  hand  somewhat  conspicuous  and  easily 
tangible.  She  had  done  this  before,  but  never 
when  she  felt  so  sure  of  her  emergency.  Mr. 
Jones,  having  mentally  renewed  his  vow  of  abso- 
lute sincerity  in  all  things,  thus  proceeded : — 

“ Miss  Van  Riper,  I desire  to  speak  with  you 
upon  a personal  subject  of  great,  and  I trust 
mutual,  interest;  and  at  the  outset  let  me  assure 
you  that  I shall  permit  no  enthusiasm  or  fervor  or 
habit  of  hyperbole  to  carry  me  beyond  the  limits 
of  exact  truth  and  perfect  sincerity,  for  I am 
resolved  that  simple  honesty  shall  be  henceforth 
my  constant  rule  of  action. 

“You  cannot  have  failed  to  observe  that  marked 
preference  which  I have  shown,  of  latter  years, 
for  your  society.  Indeed,  I am  conscious  that  at 
sundry  times  I have  given  you  more  or  less  ex- 
plicit assurances  of  my  special  regard.  Doubt- 
less some  of  these  may  have  been  accentuated  by 
the  too  common  tendency  to  extravagant  lauda- 
tion of  your  sex,  and  should  be  qualified  by  that 
consideration;  but,  however  that  may  be,  the 
main  fact  of  personal  esteem  remains.” 

Here  he  hesitated,  and  Miss  Van  Riper,  being 
restrained  by  no  vow,  remarked  that  she  must  say 
that  he  had  always  been  very  polite,  but  she  had 
never  dreamed  that  — but  what  he  had  been  just 
the  same  to  the  other  girls. 

“ No,”  he  continued,  “ there  was  a difference. 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT. 


227 


While  it  is  true  that  with  the  careless  duplicity 
which  is  the  unfortunate  habit  of  my  sex,  and 
once  was  mine,  I have  given  similar  assurances  to 
other  ladies,  they  were  not  so  fully  warranted  by 
the  fact ; and  I now  regret  and  ought  perhaps  to 
recall  them ; whereas  with  you  I am  constrained 
to  reinforce  such  former  suggestions.  Miss  Van 
Riper,  I have  critically  examined  the  state  of  my 
emotions ; and  though  I have  at  times  doubted, 
and  have  somewhat  distrusted  my  own  judgment, 
I am  satisfied  upon  a full,  and  I trust  impartial, 
review  of  all  the  evidence,  that  I love  you.  I do 
not  say  that  I adore  you  — or  worship  your  foot- 
prints — or  even  that  I love  you  as  I had  never 
thought  to  love  or  as  no  woman  was  ever  loved 
before  ; for  I am  convinced  that  such  protestations 
are  in  most  cases,  and  would  probably  be  in  the 
present,  extreme  and  misleading. 

“ I could,  indeed,  find  it  easy  to  make  them  now, 
in  the  excitement  of  my  emotions,  and  to  think 
them  true  ; but  reason  teaches  me,  and  candor 
compels  me  to  admit,  that  SMch  passionate  avow- 
als should  not  be  wholly  credited. 

“ I find  that  you  are  essential  to  my  happiness. 
In  this  I may  of  course  be  mistaken  ; and  you  will 
therefore  regard  this  as  but  the  expression  of  a 
personal  opinion  upon  the  subject.  As  for  my- 
self, I give  you  no  assurance  of  exceptional  merits. 
There  is  always  danger  that  an  individual  may  be 
disqualified,  either  by  undue  vanity  or  by  exces- 


228 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


sive  modesty,  to  pass  upon  his  own  value.  I can 
only  say  that  the  disposition  of  persons  in  polite 
society  is  to  conceal  or  repress  the  baser  elements 
of  character,  and  to  exhibit  to  the  best  advantage 
the  more  attractive  qualities, — a fact  which  should 
not  be  overlooked  in  forming  our  estimates  of  each 
other;  and  with  this  caution  I must  leave  you  to 
your  own  conclusions,  as  I am  left  to  mine.” 

By  this  time  Miss  Van  Riper’ s face  was  a study. 
She  was  old  enough,  and  sufficiently  self-pos- 
sessed, to  appreciate  the  reasonableness  of  Mr. 
Jones’s  propositions,  and  felt,  too,  that  his  case 
ought  not  to  be  prejudiced  by  his  extraordinary 
candor;  but  she  had  long  looked  forward  to  this 
moment,  and  had  well-matured  ideas  as  to  the 
proprieties  of  the  occasion,  — none  of  which  had 
been  regarded.  Her  right  hand  was  still  free. 
She  clasped  it  with  the  left,  — feeling  that  some- 
thing was  due  from  somebody,  — and  wondered 
whether  at  this  point  she  ought  to  treat  his  re- 
marks as  complete.  She  hesitated ; and  Mr. 
Jones,  perceiving  that  he  had  omitted  some- 
thing, asked  her  to  be  his  wife;  and  she,  with 
downcast  eyes  and  averted  conscience,  told  him 
she  was  so  surprised  — that  it  was  all  so  new  and 
strange  — that  she  really  had  hardly  thought  of 
marriage  — and  was  he  sure  that  he  would  always 
love  her  just  the  same?  He  replied  that  he  had 
asked  himself  that  question,  and  that  while  he 
could  not  honestly  assure  her  that  it  was  abso- 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT.  22Q 

lutely  certain,  he  felt  the  greatest  confidence  in 
the  stability  of  his  affection. 

It  had  been  well  for  Miss  Van  Riper  had  she 
been  content  with  this  guarded  statement  of  the 
case ; but  how  could  maiden  heart  surrender  to 
a preamble  and  set  of  resolutions?  She  would 
make  some  effort  to  secure  her  rights;  and  she 
began  by  being  so  surprised  that  he  should  think 
her  beautiful.  This  surprise,  having  really  no  in- 
ducement in  fact,  was  most  unfortunate.  He  had 
chosen  her  with  his  eyes  open  and  without  the 
aid  of  any  optical  illusion ; partly  because  of  a 
certain  maturity  which  corresponded  well  with 
his  own,  but  which  in  most  ladies  postdates  the 
heyday  of  youth  and  beauty;  and,  in  spite  of  his 
vow,  he  was  terribly  tried  by  this  uncalled-for 
remark,  and  especially  because  he  knew  that  in 
the  days  of  his  duplicity  he  had  indulged  in 
sundry  conventional  compliments  which  might 
have  misled  her  even  to  the  extent  indicated  by 
her  expression  of  surprise. 

But  he  was  fairly  challenged,  and  the  great 
principle  of  his  new  life  was  at  stake.  He  was 
tempted  for  a moment  to  compromise  by  some 
general  observation  that  mere  beauty  had  never 
been  the  chief  inspiration  of  his  love;  but  in  her 
eyes  he  read  a larger  expectation,  and  he  must 
answer  it.  So  he  told  her,  kindly  but  firmly,  that 
he  had  not  intended  to  imply,  nor  could  he  hon- 
estly permit  her  to  assume,  that  her  beauty,  though 


230 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


entirely  satisfactory  to  him,  was  of  that  trans- 
cendant  quality  to  compel  especial  and  exclu- 
sive homage;  and  trusted  that  he  would  not  be 
misunderstood  if  in  his  desire  to  be  entirely  frank 
he  took  occasion  to  correct  any  false  impression 
which  he  might  inadvertently  have  given  her  on 
this  subject.  Then  she  supposed,  with  tears  in 
her  voice,  that  since  he  was  not  very  sure  of  his 
love,  and  considered  her  such  a fright,  he  must 
have  some  other  reason  for  wishing  to  marry  her, 
and  she  was  sure  she  could  n’t  imagine  what  it 
was  unless  he  wanted  her  fortune  — and  she 
wished  she  had  n’t  a dollar,  so  she  did.  Now, 
nothing  could  have  been  more  absurd  and  un- 
just than  this  suggestion,  and  Mr.  Jones  hastened 
to  assure  her  that  her  suspicion  — if,  indeed,  she 
really  entertained  it  — was  wholly  unfounded  ; 
that  her  appearance  was  really  most  attractive 
to  him,  and  that  as  to  her  fortune,  while  he  could 
not  honestly  assert  that  he  had  not  considered  it, 
yet  he  sincerely  believed  that  it  had  not  influenced 
him  to  any  appreciable  extent.  But  it  was  too 
late.  She,  who  had  long  held  herself  in  readiness 
to  reward  the  love  of  some  honest  man,  in  the 
face  of  this  fine  opportunity  found  her  purpose 
paralyzed  by  the  blow  to  her  vanity,  and  she  did 
what  most  women  would  have  done  under  the 
same  exasperation.  Mr.  Jones  withdrew,  sadly 
conscious  that  he  had  deserved  a better  fate,  and 
went  to  his  club. 


MR.  JONES’S  EXPERIMENT. 


231 


It  was  the  first  time  he  had  been  there  since 
his  recovery,  and  the  cheery  greetings  of  several 
friends  almost  persuaded  him  for  the  moment 
that  he  had  something  left  to  live  for.  Here  he 
found  a note,  which  had  been  awaiting  him  some 
days,  inviting  him  to  dine  that  evening  with  his 
old  friend,  Mrs.  Axminster,  and  meet  a few  other 
old  friends.  This  gave  him  a pang,  for  he  re- 
membered that  Miss  Van  Riper  had  spoken  of 
this  dinner  as  an  engagement  for  the  evening, 
and  he  was  in  no  mood  to  appear  again  so  soon 
in  the  presence  of  one  who  had  so  cruelly  mis- 
judged him.  True,  he  felt  a momentary  impulse 
to  go  and  be  feverishly  brilliant,  and  stun  her 
with  reckless  gayety;  but  he  knew  well  enough 
that  this  suggestion  had  come  to  him  out  of  some 
novel  or  drama  and  not  from  his  real  feeling, 
and  this  was  sufficient.  He  had  fought  a good 
fight  that  day  for  downright  honesty,  and,  though 
sorely  wounded,  he  was  still  loyal  to  the  cause ; 
and  so  he  at  once  despatched  to  Mrs.  Axminster, 
not  a mere  formal  regret,  but  a note  in  which  — 
as  may  hereafter  appear  — he  set  forth  fully  and 
frankly  the  reasons  which  impelled  him  to  de- 
cline her  kind  invitation. 

He  had  hardly  done  this  when  he  was  ap- 
proached by  a friend  who  requested  him  to  sign 
the  application  of  a certain  Mr.  Plush  for  mem- 
bership in  the  Club.  He  hesitated.  He  had 
frequently  given  his  indorsement  to  such  appli- 


232 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


cations,  and  sometimes  in  behalf  of  applicants 
less  worthy;  but  that  was  before  his  sense  of 
responsibility  had  been  awakened.  He  felt  that 
he  could  not  conscientiously  vouch  for  this  man 
as  possessed  of  all  the  qualifications  which,  in  his 
judgment,  such  a Club  ought  to  require ; and  so 
he  declined  to  sign,  and,  disdaining  subterfuge, 
candidly  explained  that  he  could  not  cordially 
recommend  the  applicant  as  a gentleman  worthy 
of  admission ; and  of  course  his  words  were 
promptly,  and  more  than  fully,  reported  by  the 
indignant  friend  to  the  aspersed  candidate,  who 
with  singular  obtuseness  failed  to  appreciate  Mr. 
Jones’s  conscientious  scruples,  and  incontinently 
charged  him  with  malice,  hypocrisy,  and  sundry 
other  sins  of  the  Litany. 

If  now  we  recur  to  the  note  which  had  been 
sent  to  Mrs.  Axminster,  and  follow  it  into  her 
hands,  we  shall  find  that  estimable  lady  in  a state 
of  perturbation  hardly  to  be  expected,  and  which 
will  require  a little  explanation. 

Mrs.  Axminster  was  a widow  of  mature  age, 
whose  buoyant  spirits  and  persistent  charms  had 
long  excited  the  envy  of  her  juniors.  During 
the  few  years  of  her  widowhood  she  had  been 
conspicuous  as  an  example  of  the  sanitary  effect 
of  well-modulated  grief.  She  bloomed  in  weeds 
as  if  they  nurtured  her;  and  she  had  kept  her 
heart  as  fresh  as  her  complexion,  — a result  due 
in  part,  it  may  be,  to  the  fact  that  the  late 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT.  233 

Mr.  Axminster  had  never  drawn  largely  upon 
her  store  of  sentiment. 

Her  return  to  fashionable  society  was  an  event 
of  great  importance,  especially  as  it  was  freely 
said  that  she  was  about  to  bestow  her  hand  upon 
one  of  her  many  admirers,  generally  conceded 
to  be  the  identical  Mr.  Plush,  already  mentioned 
as  a candidate  for  other  honors. 

This  rumor  had  reached  her  ears,  and  was  not 
altogether  unwelcome.  She  was  content  that 
society  should  regard  her  as  a flower  still  fresh 
and  fair  enough  to  pluck,  and  did  not  seriously 
resent  the  insinuation  that  she  might — possibly 
— be  overcome  by  the  pleadings  of  some  favored 
suitor;  but  she  regarded  the  more  specific  de- 
tails of  the  rumor  with  apprehension ; since,  in 
fact,  Mr.  Plush,  although  attentive  enough  to 
give  color  to  the  report,  had  not  as  yet  culmi- 
nated, and  since,  moreover,  she  had  definitely 
decided  against  him  in  advance,  and  felt  the 
rank  injustice  to  other  admirers  of  an  unfounded 
rumor  of  this  discouraging  nature. 

And  this  is  not  surprising.  No  woman  ex- 
posed to  the  danger  of  a second  husband  desires 
to  have  the  risk  unfairly  diminished ; and  in  the 
present  instance  Mrs.  Axminster  was  especially 
annoyed,  because  she  had  fully  determined,  upon 
a careful  review  of  her  possible  suitors,  that  in 
case  Mr.  Jones  should  reciprocate,  as  seemed 
extremely  probable,  the  marked  preference  of 


234 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


which  she  was  conscious,  and  attempt  to  over- 
persuade her,  he  should  have  a fair  chance;  and 
while  she  had,  as  a matter  of  extra  precaution, 
denied  to  certain  other  possible  candidates  the 
rumor  of  her  engagement,  she  had  been  pre- 
vented by  Mr.  Jones’s  long  illness  from  reassur- 
ing him  on  this  point,  and  felt  keenly  the  wrong 
which  had  been  done  him.  Indeed,  she  had  at 
once  diagnosed  his  disease  as  a bitter  disappoint- 
ment with  typhoid  complications,  and  regretted 
that  the  usages  of  her  world  forbade  her  to  offer 
the  only  specific ; and  upon  his  recovery  she  had 
planned  a little  dinner  and  invited  him  with  the 
secret  purpose  to  convince  him,  by  all  delicate 
and  seemly  methods,  of  the  prematurity  of  his 
despair. 

It  was  therefore  with  more  than  ordinary  anxi- 
ety that  she  awaited  his  long-delayed  response, 
and  with  peculiar  interest  that  she  read  his  note, 
which  ran  thus : — 

My  dear  Mrs.  Axminster,  — I have  but  just 
found  your  kind  invitation  at  the  Club,  and  hasten  to 
reply,  regretting  the  embarrassment  which  the  delay 
may  have  caused  you.  With  thanks  for  the  kindness 
which  prompted  it,  I must  yet  decline  the  invitation. 
In  saying  this,  I feel  that  it  is  due  to  our  long  friendship, 
the  memory  of  which  is  very  dear  to  me,  that  I reject 
the  artifice  too  frequently  employed  on  such  occasions, 
and  tell  you  frankly  that  to  be  of  your  party  this  even- 
ing would  necessitate  my  meeting  conventionally  a lady 


MR.  JONES’S  EXPERIMENT. 


235 


— whom  I need  not  name  — with  whom  my  present 
relations  are  such  as  would  render  the  occasion  ex- 
tremely painful  to  me  and  possibly  unpleasant  to  her. 
I trust  I do  not  seem  by  this  to  imply  any  censure ; I 
simply  mean  that  I lack  the  fortitude  to  turn  so  soon 
from  the  grave  of  my  slain  hope  and  face  the  slayer  — 
alas  ! still  so  dear  to  me  — and  the  gay  world  in  which 
she  moves. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

F.  Mandeville  Jones. 

Now  when  Mrs.  Axminster  read  this  note,  she 
was  ignorant  of  Mr.  Jones’s  morning  call  on  Miss 
Van  Riper  and  the  disaster  thereof,  and  of  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Jones  had  been  apprised  of  the 
invitation  to  that  lady;  and  of  course,  reading 
his  words  in  the  dim  light  of  what  she  knew 
and  the  full  glare  of  what  she  believed  about 
his  state  of  feeling,  she  could  hardly  doubt  that 
the  lady  to  whom  he  referred,  whom  he  would 
necessarily  meet  in  coming  to  her  house,  and 
who  had  slain  his  hope,  was  — herself.  The  fact 
is,  that  Mr.  Jones  had  for  some  years  been  on 
the  best  of  terms  with  Mrs.  Axminster.  Before 
her  husband’s  death  her  house  had  been  to  him 
one  of  those  quasi  homes  in  which  bachelors 
rejoice ; and  even  at  that  time  he  had  felt  it  his 
privilege  to  respond  sympathetically  to  that  yearn- 
ing for  sentiment  which  possessed  her,  and  to 
some  extent  influenced  her  manner  and  prompted 
the  expression  of  her  feelings;  and  during  the 


236 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


period  of  her  seclusion  as  a widow  he  had  been 
one  of  the  few  excepted  from  the  ban,  and  had 
not  felt  it  his  duty  to  repress  any  natural  sym- 
pathy or  belittle  the  esteem  in  which  he  held 
her.  Indeed,  the  temptation  to  a man  of  the 
world  — as  he  then  was  — to  give  full  measure  of 
devotion  to  any  charming  woman  who  seems  to 
like  it,  is  clear  and  distinct;  and  Mr.  Jones  was 
not  at  that  stage  of  his  development  superior 
to  it;  so  it  is  not  surprising  that  she  should  have 
regarded  his  homage  as  more  especial  and  exclu- 
sive than  it  really  was.  This  is  one  of  the  mis- 
takes commonly  made  by  women  who  know 
themselves,  but  believe  men  to  be  honest. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  speculation,  even  if 
there  were  room  for  it. 

It  was  already  afternoon,  and  Mr.  Jones  must 
be  saved  from  his  error,  and  that  right  speedily; 
and  with  a palpitating  heart  and  a blush  that 
startled  her  into  thoughts  of  long  ago,  she  hastily 
penned  these  lines : — 

My  dear  Mr.  Jones,  — It  is  all  a mistake.  There  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  not  meet  the  lady  in  question 
as  usual ; and  she  will  be  very  much  disappointed  if  you 
do  not  come.  Irene. 

This  note,  which  was  quickly  despatched  to 
Mr.  Jones,  transformed  that  melancholy  person  as 
if  by  magic ; for  of  course  he  read  between  the 
lines  that  Miss  Van  Riper  had  already  repented 


MR.  JONES’S  EXPERIMENT. 


237 


of  her  hasty  action  and  had  made  a confidante  of 
her  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Axminster,  who  therefore 
fully  understood  his  trouble  and  sought  to  relieve 
it.  “ Dear,  good  Mrs.  Axminster,”  — thought  he, 
— “ what  a kindly  old  soul  she  is;  I ’ll  adopt  her 
as  a mother.” 

The  filial  quality  of  his  new  affection  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  she  was  a few  years  his  senior,  — a 
fact  which  on  the  other  hand  had  given  to  her 
feeling  no  maternal  character,  so  much  does 
the  point  of  view  control  the  deference  paid  to 
age. 

At  the  appointed  hour  Mr.  Jones  appeared, 
radiant  with  joy  and  eager  for  the  penitential 
word  or  glance  which  surely  awaited  him ; but  he 
was  disappointed  to  find  Miss  Van  Riper  sur- 
rounded by  other  guests  and  apparently  indiffer- 
ent to  his  presence.  He  had  no  difficulty, 
however,  in  getting  a moment  apart  with  his 
beaming  hostess;  and  pressing  her  hands  with 
unmistakable  fervor,  he  called  her  an  angel,  and 
vowed  that  he  owed  her  the  happiness  of  his  life, 
and  she  called  him  a foolish  boy  to  be  so  easily 
discouraged,  and  the  next  moment  whispered  to 
her  dearest  friend  that  she  had  at  last  consented 
to  become  Mrs.  Jones,  but  wished  nothing  said 
about  it  at  present;  and  within  five  minutes  her 
dearest  friend  had  enjoined  the  same  secrecy 
upon  the  other  ladies  present,  including  the 
astounded  Miss  Van  Riper;  and  before  dinner 


23B  FRA  G ME  NTS  IN  PROSE. 

was  announced,  the  gentlemen  had  severally  been 
pledged  to  the  same  silence. 

Now  it  was  most  natural  from  the  hostess’s 
point  of  view  that  Mr.  Jones  escorted  her  to  the 
table  and  occupied  the  place  of  honor;  and  most 
extraordinary  from  his  point  of  view  that  Miss 
Van  Riper  was  placed  at  the  other  end  of  the  table 
and  next  to  Mr.  Plush,  concerning  whom  his 
candid  opinion  has  been  already  recorded;  and 
quite  clear  from  their  respective  points  of  view 
that  Mr.  Jones  was  the  most  shameless  villain  of 
the  age,  — poor  Mr.  Jones,  whose  only  aim  it  was 
to  be  perfectly  honest  and  sincere ! In  fact,  so 
profound  was  this  conviction  that  when  Mr. 
Plush  inquired  of  Miss  Van  Riper  whether  in  her 
opinion  their  hostess  had  secured  full  value  for 
herself  in  the  transaction  referred  to,  she  replied 
with  some  intensity  that  she  regarded  Mr.  Jones 
as  a minus  nonentity,  — an  estimate  which  Mr. 
Plush  facetiously  characterized  as  excessively 
high. 

The  hour  wore  on  right  merrily,  with  laugh 
and  jest  and  tinkling  table-talk,  and  now  and 
then  a sly  allusion,  closely  veiled,  to  a certain 
recent  social  event;  and  yet  Mr.  Jones  was  not 
supremely  happy.  He  was  watching  Miss  Van 
Riper,  alert  to  catch  the  tender  glance  that 
should  assure  him  of  her  yielding  heart,  and  she 
seemed  never  to  see  him.  True,  it  might  have 
been  her  maiden  modesty  — the  half-shame  of 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT. 


239 


her  conscious  passion  — that  hid  her  tell-tale 
eyes  from  him ; it  might  have  been  some  proper 
feminine  instinct  that  prompted  her  to  hang  upon 
the  words  of  that  inferior  Mr.  Plush  as  if  he 
were  an  oracle ; but  still  he  wished  it  otherwise, 
and  grew  uneasy.  It  was  not  enough  that  his 
hostess,  in  all  the  effulgence  of  her  joy,  beamed 
full-orbed  upon  him ; he  never  felt  her  beams, 
but  gazed  disconsolate  upon  the  cold  and  distant 
star.  At  last,  perplexed  and  desperate,  he 
turned  to  Mrs.  Axminster  and  said  in  a low  and 
anxious  tone,  “It  cannot  be  — you  must  have 
deceived  yourself — I see  no  sign  of  feeling;” 
and  she  replied,  “Hush,  dear!  be  patient — I 
must  play  the  hostess  now*.”  Strangely  enough, 
there  was  something  in  her  words,  or  perhaps 
in  the  fond  glance  that  accompanied  them,  which 
disturbed  him  ; and  when,  a moment  later,  she 
quietly  directed  his  attention  to  the  couple  oppo- 
site, and  remarked  in  a confidential  undertone 
that  she  believed  that  Stella  Van  Riper  was  en- 
gaged, or  as  good  as  engaged,  to  Mr.  Plush,  he 
looked  at  her  in  amazement,  which  slowly  settled 
into  a sort  of  stupor  in  which  his  dizzy  mind  was 
vaguely  conscious  of  some  horrible  mistake.  He 
tried  to  think  what  it  was;  but  the  lady  on  his 
right  insisted  on  telling  him  about  some  people 
of  his  name  she  had  met  last  summer,  and  had  to 
be  satisfied  upon  the  question  of  relationship. 
He  endeavored  to  recall  the  exact  words  of  his 


240 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


note  to  Mrs.  Axminster  and  her  reply ; and  the 
gentleman  just  beyond  that  lady  insisted  that  he 
favor  the  table  with  the  story  of  his  interview 
with  the  colored  evangelist. 

He  strove  to  remember  whether  in  either  note 
the  name  of  the  lady  in  question  had  been  men- 
tioned, and  had  just  reached  a sickening  conclu- 
sion in  the  negative  and  begun  to  shiver  with 
apprehension  of  the  possible  truth,  when  the  com- 
pany arose  and  the  ladies  withdrew. 

Then  with  the  cigars  came  the  opportunity  for 
a moment’s  calm  reflection ; and  closing  his  ears 
to  the  lively  sallies  of  his  companions,  he  swiftly 
reviewed  the  incidents  of  the  day  and  reached  the 
conclusion  that  by  the  unrestrained  exercise  of 
simple  honesty  he  had  forever  estranged  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  become  ridiculously  in- 
volved with  the  woman  he  had  intended  to  adopt 
as  a mother. 

But  was  he  really  engaged?  He  now  saw 
clearly  enough  that  his  foolishly  frank  note  to 
Mrs.  Axminster  had  been  construed  by  that  ex- 
cellent person  as  a note  of  despair,  evoked  by  the 
rumor  of  her  engagement  to  another;  and  he 
could  hardly  doubt  that  her  reply  was  intended 
as  a gracious  acceptance  of  his  implied  devotion ; 
but  such  a correspondence  — so  indefinite,  and 
founded  upon  a misunderstanding  — could  never 
be  held  to  constitute  a^ontract.  The  more  he 
reflected  upon  it,  the  more  comfortably  certain 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT. 


241 


he  felt  that  in  spite  of  appearances  he  was  really 
not  engaged,  until  he  happened  to  recall  the 
general  atmosphere  of  the  meeting  with  his  hos- 
tess, and  how  he  had  held  her  hands  and  called 
her  an  angel  and  told  her  how  happy  she  had 
made  him ; and  then  he  felt  clammy  and  yearned 
for  the  fool-killer.  Clearly,  there  was  nothing 
left  him  but  to  linger  this  evening,  and  by  another 
frank  avowal,  and  a more  explicit  statement  of 
his  experience  with  Miss  Van  Riper,  explain  his 
conduct  and  set  matters  aright.  It  would  be  dis- 
agreeable. He  was  not  a man  of  lively  imagina- 
tion, but  he  could  easily  anticipate  that.  Still,  is 
must  be  done,  and  at  once. 

Having  reached  this  conclusion,  he  felt  some- 
what relieved,  and  was  about  to  resume  his  func- 
tions as  a social  being,  when  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sur- 
plice, his  old  friend  and  pastor,  drew  him  aside, 
and,  claiming  the  privilege  of  his  office  and  his 
long  friendship  for  both  parties,  warmly  congrat- 
ulated him  upon  his  engagement,  — adding  that 
he  had  already  taken  the  same  liberty  with  dear 
Mrs.  Axminster  and  had  been  deeply  touched  by 
her  frank  expression  of  the  happiness  she  felt  in 
at  last  yielding  to  the  impulse  of  her  affections. 
Mr.  Jones  gasped;  but  even  here  his  presence  of 
mind  did  not  utterly  fail  him. 

He  inquired  of  his  re^rend  torturer  when  he 
had  first  heard  of  the  affair  and  whether  he 
thought  the  rumor  had  reached  others ; and  was 
16 


242 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


informed  that  Mrs.  Axminster  had  told  Mrs. 
Surplice  just  before  dinner,  — in  confidence, — 
that  Mrs.  Surplice  had  told  him,  and  that  he, 
from  his  general  knowledge  of  that  good  lady’s 
facility  in  imparting  information  of  such  mat- 
ters, had  no  doubt  that  all  the  ladies  in  the 
party  now  possessed  the  secret ; and  several  of  the 
gentlemen  had  already  indicated  to  him  some 
knowledge  of  the  situation ; and  indeed  he,  the 
speaker,  saw  no  reason  to  conceal  an  event  so 
worthy  to  be  known  and  so  certain  to  delight 
the  many  dear  friends  of  both  parties.  Mr.  Jones 
did  not  respond  as  an  irrepressibly  happy  man 
would  have  done  ; and  he  felt  distinctly  less  in- 
clined to  linger  this  evening  and  have  that  under- 
standing with  Mrs.  Axminster. 

What  could  he  do?  The  gentlemen  were  now 
quitting  the  table  to  rejoin  the  ladies.  He  could 
hardly  remain  alone  in  the  dining-room;  and  in 
the  drawing-room,  alas  ! what  might  befall  ? He 
thought  of  suicide,  flight,  insanity,  and  the  various 
other  avenues  of  escape  from  trouble,  and  had 
about  concluded  that  the  only  happy  issue  out 
of  all  his  tribulation  would  be  to  awake  and  find 
that  he  had  mistaken  a harmless  prancing  night- 
mare for  a real  hungry  lion  looking  for  Jones, 
when  he  found  himself  in  the  other  room  and 
face  to  face  with  Miss  Van  Riper.  She  flushed 
angrily  and  would  hav^lvoided  him ; but  in  an 
agony  of  despair  he  pressed  forward  and  said  to 


MR.  JONES’S  EXPERIMENT. 


243 


her,  “May  I not  speak  with  you?  I did  not 
know  — a terrible  mistake.”  He  paused.  Her 
mild  blue  eye,  in  which  until  this  day  he  had 
never  seen  an  unpropitious  gleam,  now  pierced 
him  cruelly,  and  slowly,  steadily,  distinctly,  she 
replied,  “ Mr.  Jones,  the  catalogue  of  your  mis- 
takes is  becoming  tiresome;  ” and  before  he 
could  rally  she  had  passed  away  on  the  arm  of 
the  objectionable  Mr.  Plush,  who  was  smiling  a 
horrid  smile.  From  that  moment  his  case  grew 
steadily  worse.  The  coldness  of  Miss  Van  Riper 
froze  his  marrow,  and  the  frank  partiality  of  his 
hostess  quite  unnerved  him.  He  dared  not  go, 
and  he  feared  to  stay.  The  moment  when  he 
should  be  left  alone  with  the  charmed  widow 
and  driven  to  explanation,  appeared  to  him  more 
dreadful  than  the  day  of  judgment,  and  seemed 
to*  approach  more  rapidly  than  to  the  doomed 
criminal  comes  the  hour  of  execution ; and  when, 
one  by  one,  the  guests  had  taken  leave  and  the 
fair  object  of  his  apprehension  turned  to  him  and 
sweetly  said,  “ At  last,  Mandeville,  we  are  alone,” 
he  thought,  “How  happy  are  the  dead — wher- 
ever they  are ! ” and  then  silently  renewing  his 
vow  of  utter  frankness  at  all  hazards,  he  spoke : 

“ Mrs.  Axminster,  I desire,  or  rather  I am 
compelled,  to  be  perfectly  candid  with  you  — ” 

Here  we  must  draw  the  veil,  not  meaning 
thereby  to  imply  that  there  was  anything  in  the 
interview  which  might  not  properly  be  told, 


244 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


but  simply  because  Mr.  Jones,  who  has  kindly 
and  frankly  given  us  the  true  story  of  his  expe- 
rience up  to  this  point,  in  the  hope  that  it  would 
be  repeated  as  a warning  to  others,  here  drew 
the  veil  himself ; and  no  amount  of  persuasion, 
nor  even  the  threat  of  supplying  the  omission  out 
of  the  writer’s  imagination,  could  induce  him  to 
furnish  the  details.  He  says  that  even  as  there 
are  moments  in  a man’s  experience  to  which  the 
world  is  not  entitled,  so  there  are  centuries  which 
a man  has  the  right  to  forget  if  possible,  — and 
that  this  was  one  of  them.  Of  course  his  compu- 
tation of  time  must  be  regarded  as  inaccurate; 
but  the  situation,  so  far  as  revealed,  indicates 
that  he  may  have  had  at  least  a most  uncomfort- 
able quarter  of  an  hour,  and  that  there  might  be 
sufficient  reason  why  even  so  candid  a man  might 
desire  to  withhold  the  particulars  from  a cold  and 
merely  curious  world  ; and  so  we  must  be  con- 
tent to  take  up  the  narrative  where  he  did,  a 
little  later  in  the  evening,  when,  haggard  and 
wan-eyed,  he  paused  a moment  on  the  pavement 
just  outside  the  door  and  assured  himself  in  a 
feeble  voice  that  he  had  only  tried  to  be  honest, 
and  then  mechanically  took  his  way  toward  the 
Club.  At  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Axminster, 
tearfully  furious,  was  engaged  in  writing  notes  to 
her  confidantes  of  the  evening,  informing  them 
that  for  reasons  quite  sufficient,  based  as  they 
were  upon  conduct  unbecoming  a gentleman,  she 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT.  245 

had  forever  terminated  the  particular  relations  of 
which  they  had  been  advised,  and  hoped  that  no 
reference  would  be  made  to  them,  — which  of 
course  secured  a wide  publicity  for  her  unfortu- 
nate affair  with  the  recreant  Jones,  and  a general 
denunciation  of  that  unhappy  monster. 

Arrived  at  the  Club,  he  took  his  seat  in  the  cafe, 
and  told  a waiter  to  bring  him  a pony  of  brandy. 
Having  tossed  this  off,  he  ordered  a four-in-hand 
of  the  same.  He  was  now  looking  wild,  and  a 
sort  of  hilarity,  forced  and  unnatural,  began  to 
manifest  itself. 

About  half  a bottle  later,  the  gentleman  who 
had  asked  him  to  sign  the  application  of  Mr. 
Plush  came  in,  and  at  sight  of  Mr.  Jones  walked 
up  to  him  with  some  emphasis  and  said  that  he 
had  been  thinking  over  Mr.  Jones’s  action  in  that 
matter,  and  had  resolved  to  demand  an  explana- 
tion of  the  aspersions  cast  upon  his  friend,  adding 
that  Mr.  Plush  also  would  avail  himself  of  the  first 
convenient  opportunity  to  exact  specifications  of 
the  serious  charge  which  had  been  made  against 
him.  By  this  time  the  guiding  star  of  his  new 
life  glimmered  but  faintly  through  a vinous  mist; 
and  rising  with  difficulty,  he  grasped  the  hand  of 
the  astonished  speaker,  and  in  thick  but  fervent 
tones  declared  that  — Plush  was  all  right — a per- 
fect gentleman  — and  that  he  longed  to  encounter 
the  man  who  doubted  it  — and  insisted  on  ring- 
ing for  something  to  Plush’s  health  ; but  very  soon 


246 


FRAGMENTS  IN  PROSE. 


his  mollified  companion  detected  in  poor  Jones’s 
tangled  cerebration  signs  which  alarmed  him, 
and  calling  for  a carriage  took  him  home  and 
summoned  his  physician.  The  brain  fever  which 
followed  quite  puzzled  the  doctor,  who  was  loath 
to  believe  that  a dinner-party,  and  a glass  or  two 
after  it,  could  have  produced  such  dire  results ; 
but  Jones,  on  regaining  his  senses,  evinced  no 
surprise.  He  quietly  resumed  his  place  as  a 
lawyer  and  citizen,  and  after  a time  reappeared  in 
society,  where  he  was  kindly  received ; for  it  was 
generally  conceded,  after  the  unscientific  manner 
of  the  parlor  world,  that  the  brain  fever  must  have 
been  coming  on  for  a day  or  two  before  it  was 
recognized,  and  fully  accounted  for  the  exceptions 
to  his  usually  conventional  behavior.  Indeed, 
Miss  Van  Riper  herself  was  led  to  take  this  view 
of  it;  and  when,  some  months  later,  he  recurred 
to  the  subject  still  near  to  his  heart,  in  terms 
which  are  usually  considered  passionate  and 
wildly  extravagant,  and  in  which  the  protestations 
of  his  unique  and  eternal  love  vied  with  rhapso- 
dies over  her  peerless  beauty,  she  was  convinced 
that  his  reason  was  fully  restored,  and  said  that 
she  did  n’t  see  how  they  could  be  married  before 
autumn. 

And  so  Mr.  Jones  survived  his  experiment  of  a 
day  ; and  whether  much  the  worse  for  it  can 
hardly  be  known,  though  it  is  said  that  he 
shows  at  times  a disposition  to  be  cynical  which 


MR.  JONES'S  EXPERIMENT.  247 

rather  surprises  his  friends.  For  instance,  he 
sometimes  says  that  honesty  may  be  the  best 
policy  in  a very  primitive  community  of  men 
only,  or  in  heaven ; but  that  in  the  best  circles 
of  intermediate  society  the  man  who  gives  way 
to  his  sincerity,  as  a regular  habit,  is  marked 
for  destruction. 


ADDENDUM. 


PRACTICAL  SUGGESTIONS  TO  A FRIEND 
ABOUT  TO  BUILD  A HOUSE. 

THE  following  is  a good  example  of  the  letters 
Mr.  Norton  was  accustomed  to  write  to  his 
intimate  friends  in  moments  of  playful  idleness. 
It  illustrates  the  spontaneity  of  the  mirth  and 
humor  which  were  natural  to  him:  — 

Chicago,  February  24,  1891. 

My  dear  Sir,  — Hearing  that  you  are  about  to  build 
a house,  I send  you  a few  practical  suggestions,  — not 
because  I want  to  get  rid  of  them,  for  they  are  dear 
to  me  and  may  prove  so  to  you,  but  simply  because 
I desire  your  gratitude.  This  is  a mere  whim,  of 
course,  but  a middling  noble  one. 

Follow  the  advice  given,  or  you  will  never  regret  it. 

The  Material. 

This  should  not  be  overlooked,  but  you  cannot  over- 
see it  too  carefully.  It  may  be  either  bricks  or  stones. 
If  bricks  are  used,  they  should  be  similar  in  size  and 
shape,  and'  the  tint  should  be  rather  neutral,  — - not  a 
glaring  neutral,  but  sort  of  off-color,  and  undertoned. 


250 


ADDENDUM. 


If  stones,  care  should  be  taken  to  select  those  of 
medium  texture,  avoiding  the  soapstone  as  too  soluble 
and  the  brimstone  as  too  previous. 

Sandstone  will  do,  or  any  kind  of  granite,  — except 
the  pomegranate,  which  is  a vegetable.  In  laying  the 
stones  or  bricks,  they  should  be  protected  from  each 
other  by  layers  of  soft  mortar,  and  kept  in  place  by 
tuck-pointing. 

If  you  decide  to  have  a roof,  let  it  be  large  enough. 
Nothing  looks  more  absurd  than  a small  roof  on  a big 
house. 

In  choosing  your  glass  avoid  the  social  kind,  which 
only  obscures  the  vision,  and  the  looking  kind,  which 
would  hardly  satisfy  you.  In  this  selection  take  great 
panes  — the  larger  the  better.  The  checker-board 
sash  is  still  permitted  by  law,  but  judged  by  a higher 
standard,  it  is  wicked. 

The  Facade. 

No  gentleman’s  house  is  now  considered  complete 
without  one  or  more  fagades.  If  your  family  is  small 
one  will  do,  but  it  should  be  of  the  best  quality.  In 
this  matter  it  is  economy  to  patronize  the  best  makers, 
even  though  the  first  cost  is  greater;  for  an  inferior 
article  gives  little  satisfaction  while  in  use,  and  is  difficult 
. to  dispose  of  when  a little  worn ; whereas  a really  good 
. one.  is  a household  pet  and  always  salable.  You  might 
have  it  built  into  the  house,  which  gives  a cozy  effect. 

The  Tone. 

Nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  a house  than  its 
tonic  effect.  You  cannot  depend  upon  the  house- 


ADDENDUM. 


251 


furnishing-goods-man  for  this,  nor  always  upon  your 
architect.  You  had  better  evolve  it  or  send  it  to  Boston. 
Start  in  with  some  tones  and  avoid  the  monotone. 

The  most  dreamful  tone  is  produced  by  a studied, 
but  apparently  accidental  combination  of  second-hand 
rugs,  old  masters,  crockery,  and  mixed  furniture ; but 
a very  distinct  tone  may  be  obtained  from  wall-paper 
and  calcimine  with  less  weariness. 

The  Vista. 

In  laying  out  your  vista,  let  it  run  the  long  way  of 
your  house,  and  if  possible  keep  it  all  on  one  floor,  and 
have  it  reversible.  Some  people  finish  off  but  one  end 
of  a vista  and  work  it  always  in  the  same  direction. 
The  result  is  that  it  gets  into  a rut,  as  it  were,  and  be- 
comes stale ; whereas,  the  double-ender  enables  one 
to  change  off  occasionally,  and  so  the  whole  scene 
recuperates. 

A stained  glass  window  at  one  end,  and  a young  Cupid 
or  the  rusty  shell  of  a mediaeval  knight  at  the  other, 
would  be  highly  correct ; though  a conservatory  at 
each  end  would  be  more  sublime. 

The  Decorations. 

In  decorating  your  house,  leave  room  for  the  family. 
This  is  important.  All  decorations  should  be  quiet 
and  even  reticent.  Nothing  loud  or  boisterous  should 
be  admitted.  There  is  no  house  decoration  • which  -, 
takes  up  so  little  room  in  proportion  to  its  size  as  ' 
wall-paper  — and  none  so  cheap.  You  can  get  & 
large  piece  for  a cent,  and  it  costs  but  a trifle  to 
mount  it. 


252 


ADDENDUM. 


In  the  matter  of  colors  for  interior  decoration  be 
very  discreet.  It  is  better  to  leave  out  one  or  two 
shades,  or  even  a whole  color,  than  to  get  them  all  in 
and  feel  de  trop  yourself. 

The  Plumbing. 

The  best  place  to  put  this  is  in  the  next  house ; but 
for  one  who  observes  the  golden  rule  this  is  not  prac- 
ticable. There  is  no  such  thing  as  good  plumbing, 
but  it  may  be  restrained  to  some  extent.  A man  who 
is  out  of  business  and  tired  of  life  may  find  consider- 
able occupation  in  keeping  it  up  to  its  work  — but 
what  sort  of  a career  is  that  ? The  only  plan  for  you, 
who  have  not  been  educated  to  the  profession  of  sewer- 
gas,  is  to  employ  a young  plumber  who  has  been 
reared  in  a Christian  family,  put  your  purse  and  life 
in  his  hands,  and  then  so  live  that  when  your  summons 
comes  to  join  that  caravan,  you  may  get  a change  for 
the  better.  In  the  mean  time,  if  you  find  that  the 
plumbing  interrupts  your  health,  send  for  the  doctor. 
He  is  cheaper  than  the  plumber  and  often  better  com- 
pany. Remove  the  effect  if  you  can,  but  don’t  fool 
with  the  cause.  Don’t  send  for  the  plumber.  Try 
another  house,  or  be  a sailor,  or  a tramp,  or  even  a 
sacrifice ; but  don’t  send  for  the  plumber. 

The  Mortgage. 

This  may  be  of  any  size.  It  is  usually  a size  too  big. 
Closets. 

You  are  married.  I say  this,  not  to  reproach  you, 
but  merely  to  point  the  importance  of  closets.  To  a 


ADDENDUM. 


253 


woman  there  is  no  such  thing  under  heaven  as  a super- 
fluous closet  or  a closet  which  is  not  too  small.  It  is 
one  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  sex.  Give  her  closets 
enough  and  she  can  get  along  with  a pretty  poor  hus- 
band. If  you  don’t  believe  this,  try  it.  A man  who  is 
married  may  find  great  relief  in  giving  his  wife  “ closet- 
room.”  It  often  necessitates  building  large,  but  the 
end  . justifies  the  means,  — provided,  of  course,  his 
'means  justify  the  end.  It  is  better  to  live  in  a small 
room  with  large  closets  than  in  a small  closet  with  all 
outdoors.  In  planning  your  house  you  will  set  off  one 
closet,  the  smallest  and  darkest,  as  your  own.  In  this 
closet  you  will  see,  in  imagination,  only  your  own 
clothes  hanging,  your  own  shoes  extending  in  long 
lines  along  the  floor,  your  own  hats  on  the  shelves. 
This  is  one  of  the  chief  pleasures  of  house-building 
and  hope,  and  occurs  to  all  men  who  build  for  the  first 
time.  Without  this  illusion  men  would  build  only  from 
necessity.  You  have  it  now,  beyond  a doubt.  You 
have  lived  in  rented  houses  in  which  closets  were  few, 
and  you  have  supposed  that  the  reason  of  your  being 
denied  your  “ own  ” was  this  paucity ; and  now  you 
propose  to  build  a house  in  which  you  will  have,  if 
nothing  else,  your  own  private  closet.  It  seems  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world,  but  it  is  strictly  impossible, 
except  in  one  contingency,  and  then  only  during  her 
absence.  She  will  start  fair  enough.  She  will  see  it 
on  the  plans,  recognize  it  as  your  “own,”  let  you  assert 
your  intentions,  and  even  congratulate  you  — and  her- 
self — on  the  prospect  of  getting  your  things  out  of  her 
closet,  but  within  a week  after  you  move  in  you  will  see 


254 


ADDENDUM. 


the  joke.  It  will  dawn  upon  you  first  through  a mere 
temporary  appropriation  of  one  hook ; and  thenceforth 
she  will  be  cramped  for  room  (the  same  old  cramp ) 
and  your  things  will  be  in  the  way  (the  same  old  way), 
and  you  will  begin  to  figure  up  the  interest,  taxes,  in- 
surance, etc.,  and  wonder  why  you  did  n’t  continue 
to  rent  houses  for  her  clothes.  You  will  struggle,  of 
course,  and  perhaps  you  will  hope.  You  will  so  far 
forget  yourself  and  her  sex  as  to  reason  with  her.  You 
will  remind  her  of  her  language  at  the  altar,  of  your 
years  of  devotion,  if  any,  of  her  fair  and  square  agree- 
ment about  this  closet,  of  the  rights  of  man,  and  her 
confirmation  vows.  Then  you  will  get  a lock  and  one 
key,  and  shortly  after  you  will  be  trying  to  borrow  that 
key.  Then  you  can  either  give  up  and  use  a trunk, 
or  be  a freak — just  as  you  please.  This  option  is  the 
only  thing  about  that  closet  that  remains  your  “ own.” 

A very  persistently  foolish  man  once  kept  up  the 
contest  for  some  time  by  stocking  his  closet  with  mice ; 
but  after  feeding  them  himself  for  some  time  and  regu- 
larly fishing  them  out  of  his  pajamas  every  night,  he 
grew  careless,  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  gave  his 
wife  a cat. 

You  really  make  a mistake  in  planning  that  little 
closet  of  your  own.  Make  it  larger.  It  cannot  be  too 
large  for  her. 

Faithfully  yours, 

James  S.  Norton. 


